Stockholm Syndrome
by uchiha.s
Summary: Hermione/Loki. When Loki is finally captured by the Avengers, the Ministry is asked to get involved to ensure he remains captured, and Hermione happens to be the witch they send to do the job.
1. Chapter 1

**Stockholm Syndrome**

Summary: Hermione/Loki. When Loki is finally captured by the Avengers, the Ministry is asked to get involved to ensure he remains captured, and Hermione happens to be the witch they send to do the job.

Author's Note: So, this is probably a really overdone idea for this crackship, but I wanted to get my foot in the door with them and at least try writing them. Writing Hermione is old hat for me at this point, but Loki is something new. I'm also not super-familiar with the Avengers universe, so bear with me on a few details. OH, and, I've fudged the timeline a bit — just by a few years. Please review and tell me your thoughts!

Disclaimer: Neither the HP nor the Marvel universes belong to me.

* * *

"You can't possibly be serious, Hermione," Ron said desperately, ducking around the corner as he followed Hermione on her warpath through their flat. "It's _Norway — _can't the Norwegian Ministry deal with this?"

"For the last time, Ronald, it's not about _dealing_ with it! This is a rare opportunity for me!" Hermione paused in front of the bed, stuffing clothes at random into her beaded bag, which was already overflowing with books and extra quills, bottles of ink, and rolls of parchment. Ron's eyes were looking suspiciously wet and his ears and neck were flushed, and Hermione felt her resolve weakening. With a sigh, she dropped her little beaded bag on the floor where it made a disproportionately loud _thud_ before throwing her arms round her fiancee. "It won't be forever — probably no more than a week!"

Reluctantly Ron's arms wrapped round her and he pulled her close. Hermione buried her face in his chest, breathing in his scent and relishing the contact. "I'll be back before you know it. I bet you'll even enjoy having the flat to yourself!" she reasoned, pulling away and offering him an encouraging smile. Ron was scowling.

"Face it: you want to go, and you don't give a rat's arse about how I feel," he grumbled, turning away and sulking. Hermione rolled her eyes but resumed packing nonetheless.

"It isn't like that, Ron. I love you, but I need to have my life too," she said briskly, stuffing an extra jumper into the beaded bag. Squinting, she tugged at the clasp — she had redone the Undetectable Extension charm recently, but it _still _wasn't enough room. _Oh well. _It would have to do for now — if she didn't hurry up, she was going to be late.

"Whatever. Just go."

Hermione planted a kiss on Ron's cheek, ignoring his sulkiness. Ron tended to get like this; it just was how he was and always had been, and by now she knew enough to ignore it til it passed. Hopefully by the time she returned, he would be over it.

With a last declaration of love for Ron, Hermione stepped into the fireplace and Floo'd to the Ministry. She was going against the tide; it was Friday evening and employees were swarming out in droves. Hermione had to fight her way to the elevator, and by the time she reached Kingsley's office, she was feeling quite hassled. Still, nothing could put a damper on her excitement.

Kingsley, knowing how much Hermione missed research and scholarly work, had alerted her to an Arithmancy retreat happening in Norway with some of the greatest researchers of the time. It was meant to be kept secret, and Hermione was getting an entire week off from her job as an Unspeakable to participate. Oddly, Kingsley had insisted that she stop by his office first before leaving — and also had insisted that she bring all of her things that she was planning to take on the retreat. Suspicious but excited, Hermione knocked on the door to Kingsley's office and bounced on her toes as she waited.

"Come in, Hermione," called Kingsley in his slow, deep voice. Bursting with excitement, Hermione turned the knob.

On the other side, Kingsley was standing by his desk, fiddling with a photograph. When she entered, he shut and locked the door with a sharp wave of his wand. "I can always rely on you to be punctual," he quipped, sounding relieved, and Hermione balked.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm _not_ going on that retreat...?" Hermione sighed, slumping slightly. Kingsley shot her a smile.

"I was wondering when you were going to realize it. Come on — you're doing something _better_," he insisted, gesturing towards the roaring fire. Hermione scowled. She could hardly believe that anything could be more interesting to her right now than the Arithmancy retreat, but still, her curiosity was piqued. Reluctantly, she went to the fire and accepted the handful of Floo powder that Kingsley gave her.

"Where are we going?"

"The Prime Minister's office," Kingsley replied, and his smile melted away to be replaced by a weariness that Hermione had not expected. _What in Merlin's name is going on? _she wondered. Steeling herself, Hermione tucked her beaded bag in her coat pocket, and stepped into the enormous grand fireplace.

"P-prime Minister's office," she stammered, still in disbelief, and then her ears were filled with the roaring, rushing sound of Floo powder travel. She sped away from Kingsley's office and passed by no other fireplaces before tumbling out of the Prime Minister of Britain's fireplace, choking and coughing on soot. Her eyes tearing from the journey, Hermione fell out of the fireplace and onto the rug, and was nearly squashed by Kingsley who arrived a second later.

When she had righted herself, she saw she was in an immense office, with a large mahogany desk and framed paintings covering the walls. But more importantly, the office had several men and one woman standing inside, regarding her with varying degrees of shock.

"I _told you _they'd come by fireplace," said the Prime Minister of Britain excitedly to a ridiculous-looking blonde man who was as muscled as an action figure and wearing a red cape, of all things. Was it Halloween and no one had told her? Standing next to him was a man in rumpled grey pajamas and another man in a tight red and blue spandex suit with neatly combed hair.

"Prime Minister," greeted Kingsley smoothly as he brushed off his robes and reached forward to shake the Prime Minister's hand. The Prime Minister eagerly shook it, though all eyes were still on Hermione.

"Good to see you, Kingsley," he said enthusiastically, "and is this Dr. Granger?"

"Miss Granger is fine, though you may as well call me Hermione," she interrupted, reaching out to shake the Prime Minister's hand, her cheeks flushing with all of the unwarranted attention to her. She shot a questioning look at Kingsley, who proceeded to smile.

"I must confess that for security reasons, Miss Granger is still in the dark as to why she is here," he said sheepishly, earning nervous laughter from the others. "Hermione, we've brought you here because the Muggles are in a bit of trouble with a particular Norse god."

Hermione's jaw went slack as she wondered if this was all an elaborate joke, or if Kingsley had completely lost his mind. She had heard about what had happened in America and Germany, of course, but she had pinned it down to one of their own — some Wizard masquerading as a mythological Norse god for attention.

"She's taking it remarkably well," commented a handsome middle-aged man who was sporting ripped denims, trendy trainers, and looking ridiculous by wearing tinted sunglasses indoors — though comparably he looked quite normal, when the others were brought into consideration.

"N-norse god?" she asked weakly. She rounded on Kingsley. "Why couldn't you have explained this in your office?"

"Top security," Kingsley began, though the man in the spandex blue and red suit stepped forward now, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiling kindly at her.

"We want you to help us hold Thor's brother captive," he explained in a soothing, sweet voice, his green eyes twinkling. Hermione looked around. Everyone was quite carefully studying her face.

"You've all gone mental," she muttered, massaging her temples, suddenly missing Ron. "Absolutely, _completely_ mental."

* * *

After she had been brewed a cup of very strong tea, Hermione was taken by helicopter to a secure, remote location, though the people who had looked as though they were in Halloween costumes had not accompanied her. As Kingsley and the others had explained, Thor's brother Loki (the God of Mischief) had been found and captured, though the Muggles were fearful that Loki was not actually imprisoned and was merely biding his time.

As it turned out, her job was to test what sort of magic Loki possessed, and whether Wizarding kinds of magic could effectively imprison him. Apparently he had been banished forever from Asgard (whatever the bloody hell _that_ was) and without some permanent imprisonment placed upon him, he would remain a threat to the earth. The Prime Minister had contacted Kingsley, begging for help, and apparently, Kingsley had thought her the only person for the job. While that sort of notoriety was flattering, Hermione now sensed that she had gone into apoplectic shock. She stared in a daze at the floor of the helicopter, barely aware of the jerky ride and the incredible din.

It was all just so much to take in. She could hardly believe any of it, and she didn't even know where to begin in terms of breaking down the whole thing into manageable pieces. It was all fantasy, in the literal sense of the word, and she could not quite divorce herself from everything she had lived her life believing in. It was like being ten years old again and finding out that not only was there magic, but she possessed it. It would take some adjusting to, but this time, she was twenty-seven instead of ten, with her beliefs about the world firmly entrenched in place.

Loki was being held captive in a facility in Iceland, and many hours later, they finally landed at the top of an enormous compound that was all lit up and buzzing with activity, though it was the dead of night. Hermione was to stay at this compound with the other researchers for as long as it took her to find out all she could about Loki and his magic.

She knew that the sense of challenge would soon hit her and she'd not be able to tear her mind from this puzzle, but for now, she only felt confusion and fear.

* * *

"We'll escort you to meet him. He can be a little...cagey..." Agent Hill was saying as she led Hermione along a pristine, sterile hallway. Hermione wanted to explain that she had faced down far worse than this — she still could not quite bring herself to believe that this Loki was more powerful and terrible than Voldemort — but Agent Hill was a Muggle. She was a rather informed Muggle, of course, but a Muggle nonetheless.

"...Thank you," Hermione finally managed to say, hastening to catch up with Agent Hill's leggy strides. They came to a number of hydraulic-operated doors that involved all sorts of identification: finger print scans, retina scans, badge scans... the list went on, and it was exhausting. It was now one o'clock in the morning; Hermione hadn't actually slept in days, as she had assumed she'd be _going on a retreat to bloody Norway,_ and on top of that, she still knew nothing about Loki.

However, luckily or not, the lighting was such that it was easy to forget it was so late at night. Here in the compound, time was irrelevant and yet of the essence. The soldiers and scientists at this compound cared for time only in its purest sense; they did not concern themselves with the time of day. Hermione looked at her surroundings with awe, as Agent Hill led her deeper and deeper to the centre of the compound. The walls had no windows; they could have been fifty feet underground or in an airplane and Hermione would not have known the difference. _What a dismal place to work,_ she mused. Of course, it meant there were absolutely no distractions, but Hermione always found herself getting quite depressed when she had not had her dose of fresh air and sunshine.

"Here it is," declared Agent Hill, placing an elegant hand to a gel pad on the door. A cool female voice bid them entry, and as Agent Hill removed her hand, the titanium doors slid aside with a _hiss_, revealing a pitch black room. Just as the doors slid shut behind them, the room burst into blaring light; hydrogen lights were everywhere and the sudden change hurt Hermione's eyes. At the very centre of the circular room was a buzzing, humming cylinder that looked the way Hermione had always envisioned light particles, only large enough for her to see individually. "Wake up, Loki sir," said Hill loudly, kicking a switch unceremoniously.

The buzzing enlarged light particles vanished, revealing what looked to be a glass case, lit from above harshly. Hermione watched carefully as a man's hunched silhouette buzzed into clarity; Agent Hill's posture visibly tensed. Curious, Hermione stepped closer, studying the prisoner in the glass-like cage.

He was sitting on the floor, his back to them, head bent. From here, she could see he was wearing plain black and dark evergreen clothes that did not look like Muggles had made them, somehow; he was clearly quite tall and slim, with svelte shoulders. His hair was black and pushed back, away from his face.

"This is Loki?" Hermione murmured, looking to Agent Hill, whose blue eyes were riveted in fear and...something else?...to the man in the cage. "Excuse me — Loki?" She stepped closer again, waiting with bated breath for the prisoner to make a move. He did nothing.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," cautioned Hill. Hermione ignored her, her interest piqued. She went up to the cell and, barely hesitating, tapped on the glass.

"What's it like in there?" she queried, raising her voice slightly even as it occurred to her that Loki might very well not speak English — or speak at all, for that matter. _What if he tries to attack me? _As her heart pounded in response to that uncomfortable notion, Hermione reached into her pocket, brandishing her wand.

"Oh, those don't work on me," came a smooth, cultured voice. Hermione's eyes widened as she watched the man stand, his back still turned to her, rising to his full height. Her instincts were telling her to back away, but instead she stood her ground, waiting patiently for him to turn to face her. What did a Norse god look like, anyway? ..._And how had he known about her wand_?

"However," he began as he started to turn back to her, "I've not had the pleasure of killing a magical human."

They were facing each other now. He had sharp, angular features and dark, clever, enticing eyes, and lips so thin and pretty they might have belonged to a girl. But instead of bestowing a femininity upon him, they somehow further enhanced his aura of mischief and cleverness. He was pale, and his eyes were shadowed, in sharp contrast to his clever, pretty mouth. "I do wonder how it would feel," he added, quirking a dark eyebrow and cocking his head to the side. He raised his hand to the glass and ran his fingertips along it, in line with her face. Though he was nowhere near her and on the other side of presumably unbreakable glass, Hermione's skin tingled as though she had been touched.

"Not good, I expect," Hermione quipped, sounding far braver than she felt. "Because I'd do quite a bit more damage than what I might guess you're used to."

"Oh?" Loki's lips parted in surprise, his eyebrows arching. He pressed both hands against the glass and leaned forward, so that, if the glass had not been there, they would have been touching. "Why don't you try?"

"He's manipulating you," interrupted Agent Hill loudly. "Dr. Granger, please step away from the cell. You are upsetting our prisoner."

Loki's smooth, pale lips curved into a private grin; it was meant to be shared with her. _Thank you, Agent Hill,_ Hermione thought with an inward eye-roll. _Because obviously I got to be where I am now by being a _complete_ moron. _

"Sweet dreams... Dr. Granger," he murmured, his voice like silk: diaphanously icy and smooth as glass, yet fluid as water. Hermione shivered involuntarily and, finally, obeyed Agent Hill and turned away. The hiss of the hydraulic-operated doors echoed throughout the long corridor as they walked away, with Agent Hill leading Hermione to her quarters, though Loki's voice echoed in her mind long after the doors had shut behind them.

* * *

In spite of everything, Hermione's exhaustion seemed to have vanished the moment Agent Hill shut the door to her quarters behind her, and now she felt like a live wire, buzzing to life and radiating energy.

Her beaded bag sat conspicuously on a sleek desk that sat across from a plain full-sized bed with two pillows and an off white comforter tucked neatly. The room was as sterile as the rest of the compound, and also had no windows. Hermione leaned against the wall to take off her shoes and nearly brained herself when it turned out that particular bit of wall was a hidden door to a closet and said closet opened when she leant on it.

She changed into her pajamas and dressing gown, both of which were flannel tartan in honor of McGonagall, and both of which were also sorely out of place in this futuristic décor, and began unpacking her beaded bag. When she had been packing, she had packed a few books on Norse mythology on a lark — _perhaps Kingsley knows me too well,_ she mused, studying the cover of a rather dusty tome with a depiction of a dark-haired, clever god in a horned helmet. _He knew I'd pack everything relevant to Norse mythology if he said I was going to go to Norway..._ And as it turned out, her Arithmancy texts were the useless ones in this scenario — and the dozen children's books she'd brought bearing tales of Thor, Odin, and presumably Loki were the true gold.

She settled into her bed as well she could with all of her mythology books and began reading, quill poised in hand, on the search for any mention of Loki. Soon she had moved back to the desk and was covering it in rolls of parchment with notes crammed into every inch of space in her tiny, precise handwriting.

Actually, now that she examined it, there was plenty of evidence to suggest other realms, and the very thought of it excited her — other realms, with other kinds of magic, possibly! Why had they not tapped into this incredible resource before?

_Oh, right. We didn't have any solid _proof_ of it until recently,_ she remembered sheepishly. Still, she was overcome with the urge to abandon her research and simply question Loki; she wanted to learn all she could about his magic... But how could she do that without putting herself — and the rest of the world — in grave danger? She was not so foolish as to try and strike up a deal with the God of Mischief, but she was also beginning to wonder if bargaining would be the only means of getting anything useful out of Loki.

…On top of all of this, she couldn't help but wonder what made the so-called Prankster God tick. Why was Loki the way he was now? Listlessly Hermione flipped through her notes, but she had not come to any sort of consensus on Loki's history. _I'll just have to ask Thor, then,_ she mused, though it was incredible, literally, that she had that option at all.

Eventually she fell asleep at her desk around seven in the morning, though as she had no clock nor windows by which to judge time, she had no idea of what time it was.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Dr. Granger," came a woman's flat voice over the intercom.

Then, there was a smooth, deep man's voice: "The sleeping beauty is still asleep, Agent Hill. We must not awaken her yet."

"Thor, she is here on a mission — she is not here to sleep!"

"Ah, but if she has managed to sleep on these flat things you call beds, then she has accomplished a mission indeed!"

Hermione blinked blearily and straightened up at her desk before sniggering into her hand, and listened as a hissed argument between Agent Hill and Thor (yes, the Norse god. No, she still could not believe it) occurred, with considerably less hissing on Thor's end. Feeling time to end this, Hermione rose and stumbled to the intercom.

"Good morning, Agent Hill and...Thor..." _is that what I'm meant to call him? _"I just got up and should be ready soon. Was there to be some sort of team meeting?"

"Good morning, Lady Gr—"

"Yes, at nine hundred hours. That is in thirty minutes — well, twenty-nine," interrupted Agent Hill swiftly. Hermione was glad they couldn't see her, because she was trying very hard to hold back giggles. "I will return in twenty-five minutes to escort you to the conference room."

"Thank you," Hermione replied even as she heard the sound of Agent Hill trying to lead Thor away. Grinning, she hastily got dressed. The good cheer dissipated as she realized that she would be the only Witch at this meeting — though perhaps Thor counted as a non-Muggle as well? _At any rate, I can find out from him just how much of this all is true,_ she thought happily, surveying her pages and pages of notes on Loki's history.

* * *

"Our objective is to keep Loki confined here. In Asgard he is too likely to break free and pose a threat — Thor will be kept busy all the time with his job of ruling there; he won't have time to deal with Loki," a man with an eyepatch named Agent Fury was saying. The conference room was packed, and again, Hermione observed an assortment of odd people. There was the man in blue and red spandex — was he some sort of god too? — and several people wearing mostly leather outfits. In her scruffy jumper and jeans, she was — ironically — the most out of place by far. "But we want you, Dr. Granger, to study his tricks and learn the bounds of his powers. His magic is closely related to yours, apparently."

"I will do my best," Hermione replied unsteadily, her cheeks heating at all of the stares now on her.

"Is there anything we can do to make your job easier?" asked a petite brunette in a white lab coat. Hermione pressed her lips together. She felt uncomfortable asking like this, but... She turned to Thor.

"Actually, if I could speak with you and get a better history of Loki's magical habits, I would appreciate it."

Thor beamed.

"Certainly! Anything to help a fair maiden such as yourse—"

"Thor, _control yourself_," hissed the brunette in the lab coat, rather more venomously than necessary.

"Er — thanks," Hermione said quickly, hoping to divert any further issue.

After the meeting, Hermione and Thor agreed to have lunch in the compound's cafeteria so he could tell her more about Loki. It was a bit odd to so casually walk alongside a man well over six feet tall, wearing a long flowing red cape, but Hermione could guess that it was even weirder for the Muggles than it was for her. At least in the Wizarding world, everyone wore robes, which were closer to Thor's clothing. Hermione watched Thor take three trays, winking at the cafeteria ladies saucily, and then piling each tray high with food — mostly meat. He then proceeded to fill three separate mugs with hot chocolate and nearly bury the mugs in whipped cream.

"Hungry?" Hermione teased, raising her brows. Thor flashed her a grin.

"Always, my lady."

Hermione got her own lunch and sat down at a more remote table with Thor. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied that brunette again in the lab coat, eating by herself and very obviously trying quite hard to not look at Thor.

"Is that your girlfriend, Thor?" she asked while Thor stuffed the better part of a steak into his mouth with his bare hands.

"That is Jane," he said after he had swallowed. "Isn't she beautiful?" Thor waved at her, and the girl, Jane, waved back a bit shyly. Hermione smiled at her, waving as well. She didn't want Jane to think she was trying to steal Thor away, or something similarly ridiculous.

"Anyway, why don't you tell me about Loki's magical habits?" she asked, picking at her sandwich as Thor plowed through a second steak.

"Loki was always my best friend," said Thor happily, now moving on to demolish a slice of apple pie. "We did everything together — we were as close as two brothers could be. But we always knew where we stood in our father's eyes — I was the favored for the throne, of course, but I believe Odin favored Loki for his intelligence and wit. Loki was always playing tricks, and though he was very reserved, he was always the wittiest at any table in Asgard."

"What sort of tricks did he play?"

"Oh, countless tricks. He can make copies of himself and they can do different things — that's always been his most useful trick for his pranks, I believe — and he can disappear and reappear."

"Anything else?"

"I wouldn't know his full repertoire — those are just the ones I've seen him use." A darkness passed over Thor's face now, "But magic is not Loki's only trick, Lady Granger. Loki is very manipulative and persuasive. He can make people believe anything; he can suggest all sorts of things with just a look, just a word or two. That is his real power," Thor warned.

"Then I don't see how he poses a threat —"

"That is the problem, Lady Granger. No one knows just what Loki might do next. He holds his cards quite close to his chest. He has never given away the full extent of his powers. He could probably persuade his way out of the cell." Thor paused now, acquiring a far-off look. "He's been confined for now, but who knows how long that will last. He might know exactly how to break free and is just waiting for a convenient time to do it."

* * *

Hermione left the cafeteria feeling a bit on edge about this mission. If no one knew the full extent of Loki's power, then how was she going to find out, if he knew she had been sent to do such a thing?

_Legilimency._ That was the answer, of course. Hermione stopped in front of her own room, pausing before unlocking the door, her thoughts turbulent. _But he must know some sort of Legilimency...one that doesn't require eye-contact — _because after all, he had known yesterday that she was reaching for her wand.

Her hand hovered over the handle before she pulled it away, glancing around furtively. She would never learn anything from Loki with Agent Hill or anyone around — they were too much of a threat to Loki. She needed time alone with him, that was all. Hermione slipped down the hall, towards the center of the compound. This was her only chance, and she was going to take it.

Loki was seated at the very center of the cell, eyes closed and head tilted upwards, towards the sun. It had been no trouble to get inside — apparently her fingerprints and retina had already been approved and entered into the system — and now she stood in the doorway, watching Loki carefully. With the light shining down from the ceiling of his cell, his profile was cast in high relief.

He was so different from Thor, in appearance and comportment alone. Thor's features were heavy, masculine, and though handsome, almost brutish in their strength. His skin was tan and flushed and his hair flaxen and mussed. His form seemed to take over the room; he was overpoweringly _big_.

Loki, by contrast, was fair and svelte, though perhaps as tall as Thor, and his features were more refined and elegant. Thor looked like the cheerful and good-natured and brave king; Loki even _looked_ like a villain, albeit a rather compelling and, yes, even a handsome one. The two men were like Gryffindor and Slytherin personified, interestingly.

Hermione mastered herself and stepped inside, listening to the door's soft _hiss_ behind her. Loki did not flinch.

"Have you come here alone, Dr. Granger?" His voice was as soft and smooth as velvet, and just as rich. He spoke quietly, just as before, and it was beckoning: she had to strain to listen. Thor grabbed your attention by shouting; Loki by whispering. "Perhaps you sensed that I do not trust anyone else here and would behave differently around you. ...What a clever girl you are."

_Manipulate me with flattery, will you? Two can play _that_ game, Loki._

"I would call that common sense, Loki, though I suppose you must be traumatized to be surrounded by intellect so beneath your own," she said lightly, stepping closer to the cell. Loki's eyes remained closed; his back straight. She watched as his lips twitched; he was fighting a smirk.

_I have to lull him into a false sense of security. He has to trust me against his better judgment. _Hermione made her way to the cell and sat down on the floor next to it. Loki finally opened his eyes and tilted his head to her. "It must be dull in there," she remarked, running her fingers over the glassy surface. "At least you've got magic to pass the time."

Loki's eyes roved over her, studying her carefully. She noted they were a peculiar cross between blue, green, and grey.

"You must not know what I've done," said Loki finally, his eyes finally meeting hers. He did not look away, and the eye contact was scalding. Hermione waited to feel some sense of him probing her mind, but she couldn't. Was his form of Legilimency undetectable, or had he merely made a good guess yesterday? "You are so unafraid of me."

"I've met worse," she replied, hugging her knees to her chest. "And, in fact, with my best friends, I was the one to bring him down."

Something flashed in Loki's eyes, and a ripple of emotion lit up his features for one moment. _There we go,_ she thought triumphantly. He smiled slightly now, though it never reached his eyes.

"I highly doubt he was worse," he said silkily, turning to face her fully now. "Do you see this cell? Human beings have never encountered a man such as me before. They are terrified. Blind and frenzied as sheep, they trample over each other to confine me, yet their foolish morals prohibit them from simply killing me."

"They never could have confined Voldemort," Hermione said simply with a shrug. She watched Loki draw in a breath sharply; clearly, inwardly he was regrouping. His features turned placid again, and he moved closer, pressing a hand to the glass.

"And you were the one to defeat this Voldemort?" He arched his brows at her, before cocking his head and frowning slightly. "You must be quite powerful. I'm sure my silly tricks are no match for you." He paused again, his stare still so heavy, still so burning. Hermione longed to look away but did not want to, for fear she might give herself away. "I could tell, when you first came in, you know. I could feel it. It must be so frustrating, to live so unfulfilled. Every day, all day, you must be surrounded by such inferior beings; you must watch them struggle to keep up with your intellect. ...What is it like, I wonder, to know you can never find a mate who matches you in power and in intelligence?"

"I have found one, actually," Hermione retorted, though she could feel her cheeks flushing. It was just a tiny lie — Ron was not the brightest bulb on the tree but he certainly had his own kind of intelligence, and he was witty and kind, and brave — well, at least, sometimes. Loki's eyes darkened; Hermione was surprised to find her heart beginning to pound again. There was something in the way he looked at her that felt like an invitation, and she found herself leaning forward and tucking her legs under her.

"Please, Dr. Granger — we both know you're lying. You must be so lonely." He paused, holding his hand to his chest. "I can see it. I can see your sadness, your solitude. After all you've done, you have to settle for something less than you deserve." His eyes narrowed into knowing crescents; his brow furrowed. "Such a waste."

"Well, what about you? Didn't you have any girls you liked in Asgard?" she asked lightly, though her hands were clammy and trembling and her heart was pounding. Arrhythmia didn't run in her family but she was beginning to wonder if perhaps it had skipped a generation.

"No. Like you, I felt I never met my match," he said softly, with a small, carefully crafted sigh. "Though I think, had we met under ..._different circumstances..._ I must confess, I would be thinking of it." He winked now. Hermione made a show of rolling her eyes, before she looked around, studying his cell.

"How does this cell work, anyway? I mean, how does it keep you inside?"

"Human technology — I wouldn't know," said Loki with a shrug. She could see him recalculating; he was trying to find another possible weakness of hers to exploit. _Good luck,_ she thought smugly. Even if he did manage to upset her, she could always leave.

"But if you don't know how it works, how can you leave?" she asked innocently. Loki scoffed, his eyes dancing. He leaned closer.

"Come now, Dr. Granger...you're not on my side. You don't _want_ me to break free...do you?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I'm not a normal human, am I? Most wizards and witches despise Muggles — nonmagic humans, I mean. After all, they are inferior, are they not? Who's to say I am not double-crossing them?"

Would Loki take the bait? She tried to look as though she had said something offhand; Loki was still watching her carefully. "Anyway, does it prevent you from doing any magic at all?"

A mischievous, dangerous grin curved Loki's lips; Hermione found herself riveted as she watched him reached behind his back. When he extended his hand, a lush pink flower was sitting in his palm. It was not of a species she had ever seen before, though it reminded her of a lotus.

"Perhaps not," he said softly. Hermione's heart began to pound harder — not because of the flower, but because if he could perform that little bit of magic, then what else could he do?

"Watch what I can do," she said instead of showing any surprise, and she took out her wand and waved it. The flower was consumed by blue fire. Loki gasped and made to drop the fire, but halted when he saw it was not painful to touch. When he looked up again, there was a naked hunger in his eyes, and his fingers closed round the fire as he gazed at her. When he opened his palm again, there lay nothing but smoking remains of the lovely pink flower. "Do you always destroy things?" she blurted out a bit irritably. Loki's lips curved into a grin.

"I wasn't the one who destroyed it, Dr. Granger — _you_ did that. I merely put out your fire."

"But why must you cause all of this trouble here on earth? Is it a plea for attention, because your brother is king of Asgard?"

"Why must you pretend to know about things that you actually don't know a thing about at all?" Loki snarled, casting aside the remains and lunging towards her. Quite suddenly he melted back into a seated position; Hermione glanced behind her to find Agent Hill, Agent Fury, and a number of the other Avengers watching her, silently. Hermione cringed. Merlin's pants, she'd done it now.

"There you are," said Agent Fury, looking thunderous. Hermione rose to her feet, putting her hands on her hips.

"Yes, I'm here — doing what I've been asked to do," she parried, effectively challenging him. "And I'd appreciate not being interrupted."

"Dr. Granger, it is not recommended that you interact with Loki unsupervised — in fact, it is not recommended that _anyone_ interact with him unsupervised," pleaded the man in the rumpled grey pajamas now, pushing at his mussed hair.

"The thing is, Dr. Granger," interrupted Loki, grinning, and Hermione turned to look back at him, "No one knows just what I might do next." He winked at her, and then, quite suddenly, the cell exploded, shards of the special glass flying everywhere, slicing her skin. Hermione screamed and ducked to the ground, grappling for her wand amid the pain, as a blaring alarm began to sound off; the Avengers all withdrew weapons and aimed at Loki.

"Freeze, Loki, or we will shoot," threatened Agent Fury, and inwardly Hermione scoffed. If Loki could break free from that cell, then guns were hardly a threat to him. Loki elegantly stepped out of the cell, standing over her, and Hermione moved to look up at him, glass crunching underneath her and cutting her hands. Silhouetted by the hydrogen lights, he looked more like a malicious god than ever.

"Thank you, _so much_, Dr. Granger. You've been such help," Loki said with a sigh. He raised his right hand, and a staff materialized into it. "Unfortunately, I've dawdled enough here, and it's time I left—"

"_Expelliarmus!" _Hermione cried, interrupting him, and the staff was blown out of his hand and clattered to the floor several metres away as Loki was knocked back. Hermione quickly stumbled to her feet and backed away from Loki but never took her eyes from him. "Do not shoot, Agent Fury!" she yelled. Her skin was on fire from being cut and she was shaking with fear, but a certain adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She had forgotten how good it felt to be there in a crisis — she had almost forgotten how _good_ she was at handling them.

Loki was regarding her now, still amused.

"You're a challenge, Dr. Granger, and I like that in a woman," he said silkily. Hermione did not respond as she reflected on which spell to use next, but before she could act, Loki had disappeared and reappeared where his staff had fallen. He threw back his head and laughed.

"_Petrifi— _agh!" Hermione was thrown backward by the force of a beam of blue light emitted by Loki's staff, and then, overheard, Hermione heard the sound of gun fire and the clinking of shells hitting the floor. Loki laughed as he diverted all of the bullets and strode decisively towards them.

"Sorry, Agent Fury — but this one is mine," he said, and waved his staff. Hermione found herself thrown upwards and into Loki's arms, and though she struggled, she felt the world slipping away from her.

"_Reducto_!" she cried, breaking free of Loki's grip. His blood splattered on to her but he vanished.

For several moments, there was silence save for the sound of Hermione's labored breathing and the _drip drip _of her blood, mixed with Loki's, trickling to the floor.

"Dr. Granger, if you had not —"

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit," she snapped, turning to face them now. "He was just waiting for a theatrical moment to leave — you should know by now that he craves attention! If anything, it was your fault for getting everyone together in here so he'd have a maximum audience!"

"She's right, Fury," said the man in the pajamas now. "He could have done that at any time."

Hermione stared down at the floor, where the glass and blood mingled, gleaming wetly in the light. _He tried to take me with him,_ she realized only just now. Her hands trembled and her breath caught in her throat. In the midst of things she hadn't processed it — she had gone into survival mode. As much as it horrified her, she could not help but wonder...had it just been so he would have a hostage, or was there something more to it?

"In any case," she began, hastily banishing those thoughts, "I want to go to Asgard to study your magic," she addressed Thor. "If we're going to capture Loki once and for all, we need a better plan than..." she paused, gesturing at the floor, "...very thick glass."

She would find Loki, she resolved. She would find him, and capture him once and for all.

* * *

Hermione was in a daze from everything that had happened, the surge of adrenaline, and the blood loss, and so the next few hours passed in a blur. She was taken to the medical bay and her wounds were treated. By the time she was wheeled back to her room by Agent Hill, it was quite late.

"I just wanted to apologize," said Agent Hill suddenly, as Hermione unlocked her door. "You remained so calm and cool, even when Loki was trying to hold you hostage. I shouldn't have underestimated you."

Hermione smiled.

"You remained quite calm as well — I'll be glad to be working with you. You were wise, yesterday, to be so wary of Loki."

Agent Hill returned the smile and left Hermione at her door. Hermione unlocked the door and shut it behind her, leaning against the door and slumping against it, closing her eyes and feeling overwhelmed. Too many things had happened today; she'd felt too many conflicting emotions. She just wanted to sleep uninterrupted for the night and deal with everything in the morning.

When she opened her eyes, however, she froze.

A pink flower, lush and velvety, lay on her pillow.

End


	2. Chapter 2

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: WOW. I can't believe all of the amazing responses I got, and I ended up deciding to follow this plot bunny a little further. I can't promise I will continue beyond this, but I figured I'd post what I had. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: **DocteureCrane, wishartdawn2, LazyKiss, Hermitt, KrisDawnRulez, LeonaMasha, gleeismylove, cullen's pet, claire96, wingedmercury, Lady Miya, booklove44, Ri-Chan, MeriLynelle, AvoidedIsland, NorthernLights25, ShadowCrawlerCiel, Perse B J , Eternally Free, none654321, chris7100, moor, Nerys, SinoPrisca, Shan84, ShimmeringWater, liljennmartin, and marana1.**

Also: **warning. This chapter contains mature themes.**

Disclaimer: The HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Two.**

* * *

"So you're saying you want Thor to take you to Asgard? Do you have any idea of —"

"No, I don't have any idea of _anything_, Fury, because I just bloody well found out that another realm exists _at all_ yesterday!" Hermione exploded. Agent Fury looked affronted.

"Well, you don't have to get all shouty about it," he sulked. Hermione bristled when she saw Steve (also known as Captain America, absurdly enough) sighing happily in her direction.

"I always love when Brits say 'bloody,' don't you?" he asked Tony Stark conversationally. Hermione fought the urge to slap them both and instead crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Loki could be _anywhere_ right now. If I'm meant to help you at all, I've got to start now, rather than later!"

"With all due respect, Lady Granger — I cannot simply bring a mortal into Asgard," said Thor gravely. Hermione arched her eyebrows.

"Then what good is being king, anyway, if you can't do that?" she wondered aloud. Her adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, and recalling that point of contact, just before she had broken away from Loki, set her blood alight all over again each time.

And no, she hadn't told them about the flower. Minor detail.

"In the mean time, Hermione, I could show you some of my research on the different realms," Jane Foster piped up eagerly. Hermione sighed in relief. _Finally_ someone actually wanted to do something about catching Loki.

"I'd like that very much, Jane."

* * *

Jane Foster's research had been mind-blowing, and as Hermione went to dinner that night, she couldn't help but reflect on how often everything she knew got turned on its head. Every time she thought she had a handle on reality, something changed and she had to reevaluate everything. It was humbling, to know that you could never actually _know_ everything, and yet frustrating all the same. She had to admit that having a foot in both the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds had made her feel a bit superior — like some sort of all-knowing deity — but now she saw she was just an ant among the rest of them.

"So, howabout you, Hermione? Any Wizards back home?" teased Jane's assistant, Darcy, as they stood in line for their dinner in the cafeteria. Hermione winced as some sort of unidentifiable hash was slopped onto her plate, spraying brown liquid all over her white jumper.

"I've got a fiancee, and he believes I'm in Norway right now on a scholarly retreat, studying Arithmancy," Hermione replied, following Darcy and Jane to the table where Steve, Clint, and Thor were already eating. Hermione observed Thor's face light up upon seeing Jane, and she couldn't help but smile. _They're in love_.

"Okay, hold the phone — what the hell is Arithmancy," demanded Darcy as they sat down.

"Math, sweetheart," said Clint. Darcy smirked, putting her hands on her hips.

"_Actually,_ bird-man, you must be thinking of _arithmetic, _and _not_ arithmancy, which is actually some sort of Wizarding magical subject. It's very complicated and you wouldn't understand it." She stuck her tongue out at Clint, who arched his brows at her in a cross between amusement and irritation.

"Well, actually, it does involve a fair bit of math," said Hermione timidly, slightly afraid to incur Darcy's wrath. Clint punched the air in victory as Darcy shot her a withering look. "It's predicting the future through math, really. Divination... but more precise."

"And has it got you anywhere yet?" asked Tony as he slid in next to Clint, bearing nothing on his tray but a glass of whiskey and a paper plate for his cigarette. "I mean, have you actually predicted anything with it?"

"Yes, in fact," said Hermione happily. "That's what I like about it — it's much more worthwhile of a branch of magic than Divination, which is so much guesswork and really all smoke and mirrors...quite literally." She glanced at Jane, who was gazing unabashedly at Thor. For someone whose features were nearly movie-star appropriate, Jane truly was an awkward swotty scientist, with apparently no idea of how lovely she was. Most girls with her features would not have been quite so insecure about Thor's affections, but Hermione liked her the better for it. "Jane would be quite a force in it, I believe."

"Jane would be quite a force in anything she tried her hand at," declared Thor, causing a furious blush to cross Jane's cheeks and many an eye roll from the other members of the table.

Hermione picked at her food, lost in thought, as the others chatted on. Jane's research had been interesting, but it didn't help her in finding Loki — and even if they did find him, what could she possibly do with him at this point? The answer was: nothing. She had no way of confining Loki, no way of stopping him — at least, not without significant violence.

"You're stressing," remarked Clint, drawing her from her thoughts. Hermione offered a sheepish half-smile and shrugged.

"Loki could be in any of the nine realms, and even if we did find him, we couldn't do anything to capture him just yet."

"Exactly, so calm down. It's like you said — the little bastard just wants attention. He'll wait until the most dramatic moment before he strikes, and that probably won't be for a while, since he did just bust out of his confinement," Tony interrupted, after downing his whiskey and slamming his glass down on the table. "So just relax."

"...Thank you," Hermione replied unsteadily. The discussion degenerated to an argument of whose biceps were bigger: Steve's, or Thor's, and Hermione mentally checked out. She stared at her food, once again lost in thought. Every time she thought of that blasted pink flower, her cheeks grew warm and she had to distract herself lest she display how much it had unsettled her. What had it meant? Had it been a warning...or an invitation?

And were they the same thing, coming from Loki?

While Loki was nowhere near the menace that Voldemort had been (in her _humble_ opinion, anyway), Loki had many qualities in common with Voldemort. He was far cleverer than most men; he liked attention and theatrics and drama and, of course, trophies; and he had significantly more control over his magic than average. However, unlike Voldemort, Loki had something to prove, and was capable of feeling guilt, remorse, shame, and heartbreak.

In her heart Hermione knew that, just as with Voldemort, the key to defeating Loki would be to understand him on a deeper level. She had to find some way to really get to _know_ Loki. _I could use Legilimency on Thor...better yet, I could ask him to withdraw some of his memories of Loki for me to explore in a Pensieve... Yes! _That was it. That way she could easily revisit different memories without invading Thor's privacy and his life so much. Besides, she had the inkling that if she spent too much time staring into Thor's eyes, Jane might just combust.

* * *

Hermione sent for a Pensieve from Kingsley and had gotten permission from Thor to take some of his memories of Loki for observation. Now, finally blessedly alone, she sat in her room on her bed, with the Pensieve on her lap, and dumped the contents of the different phials into the shallow bowl.

Silvery and diaphanous, Thor's memories and thoughts swirled about the bowl. Once in a while, the threads of thought gleamed gold, and Hermione wondered if that was a consequence of his being a god, or if certain types of thoughts tended to be coloured gold. If the latter were the case, it was likely that gold thoughts represented fondness, or love. _This must be so hard for Thor, _she thought sadly, prodding at the thoughts with her wand absently, watching them undulate and twist about.

Hermione cast a last look at the desk, where Loki's rosy flower so innocently sat. Her mouth went dry, and she found herself setting aside the Pensieve for now, with trembling hands and a pounding heart. She didn't feel safe viewing Thor's thoughts when it was clear that Loki could so easily reappear inside of her room at any moment. Hermione stood by her desk, at a loss for what to do, and was overwhelmingly cornered and trapped quite suddenly. She could see now that Agent Hill had been the wisest of them all, to so gravely respect Loki's power.

She could not relax. Hermione paced her room for an age, her heart still fluttering. What if Loki reappeared in her room? What would she do? She didn't think she'd even be able to make it to sleep, with that threat hanging over her head. The night before, she had been so exhausted and so filled with painkillers that sleep had been inevitable, but now she was too keyed up and energized for sleep to be even a remote possibility.

Hermione stepped into the bathroom, her wand with her, and double-locked the door, both mechanically and magically. Even slipping out of her clothes took some work, as she kept imagining she could hear someone in her room. Of course, there was no one there — she checked at every creak — but the thought persisted anyway.

In the heat of the shower, her wand on the soap ledge, Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. This was reminiscent of Horcrux hunting — Voldemort could have found them at any time, just like Loki could burst in at any time — in some ways, but in other ways, it was starkly different. It had been easy to be brave for Harry's sake, but in this case, her fear of Loki was more personal.

He had wanted to take her hostage, and there was some significance to that that Hermione was afraid to pin down. Loki was enticing, he was compelling, and if she let herself reflect on that too much, she feared it could eclipse her determination to stop him at all costs. Still, the stab of both anticipation and fear every time she thought of his pretty lips and clever eyes hit her at a place in her abdomen that was concerning. Hermione had always disdained those silly girls who drooled over the 'bad guys' but at least said bad guys were usually nothing more than poor blokes gone down a bad road. Loki was a bloody _god_ capable of worldwide destruction — no, _universe-wide_ destruction. 'Bad guy' was putting it _just a tad_ mildly.

But was it, really? Hermione got the impression from Thor that Loki hadn't always been so hell-bent on power and glory — once upon a time, Loki had been just a young man with a chip on his shoulder and quite a good sense of humor. Where had everything gone wrong; why had everything changed?

When she had been extracting the memories from Thor, Thor had explained that learning that he was part Frostgiant had been the last straw for Loki. That was when everything had really gone to pieces, and all of the things that had before simply made Loki snarky and needy now turned him into something unrecognizable. He no longer appeared to require approval from anyone, and yet, somehow, Hermione knew this was not true. Perhaps Loki had internalized it better, and perhaps his means were bigger and scarier, but at the end of the day, he still was just a little spoilt boy, whinging and kicking for attention.

Her muscles began to relax as the hot water massaged them, and her mind drifted to the day before. She had never felt so on-edge, so close to capitulation, around a man. She was so used to feeling superior to the men in her life, in an implicit and unintentional sort of way. As much as she loved Ron, intellectually she knew she was superior to him, and it was just a fact in their relationship. Ron had his own strengths and they supported and appreciated each other in equal turns.

...Well, sort of. Sometimes.

_"It must be so frustrating, to live so unfulfilled. Every day, all day, you must be surrounded by such inferior beings; you must watch them struggle to keep up with your intellect. ...What is it like, I wonder, to know you can never find a mate who matches you in power and in intelligence?"_

Loki's words echoed in her mind, and a shiver ran up her spine as she recalled the gleam in his eyes. She wasn't unfulfilled — she loved Ron. And yet recalling Loki's voice, so soft, so melodic, and yet so masculine, caused that odd clench to return to the pit of her belly. She knew this feeling; she could either resist and remain frustrated, or give in, and regret it.

Her hands wandered.

It didn't take long. Flushed and filled with self-hatred, Hermione finished her shower and exploded out of the bathroom, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. How could she have done something like that? How pathetic could she possibly be? She saw the flower on the desk and with a careless slash of her wand, the flower again burst into blue flames, the multitudinous petals curling, wilting, and then dissipating.

_"I wasn't the one who destroyed it, Dr. Granger — _you_ did that."_

She was filled with a sudden, overwhelming need to see Ron. Hermione set up wards around the Pensieve — though hopefully no one would have been able to figure out how to work it anyway, not even Loki — and threw on clothes at random. It was late — well past midnight — and without permission to leave the compound, Hermione turned on the spot.

She reappeared moments later outside of the entrance to Diagon Alley, and stormed down the crooked, winding road towards her flat. The lights were on, and for one horrible, searing moment, Hermione wondered if it were possible that Ron had brought a girl over. Disgusted with herself, especially in light of what she had just done, she stormed inside anyway.

The telly was on, and Ron was quite alone, asleep on the sofa in front of it, snoring loudly, with a half-finished bowl of popcorn tilted on his lap. Smiling, Hermione set the bowl on the coffee table as Ron jerked slightly.

"Mione — what're you doing here?" he mumbled, still half-asleep. Hermione slipped onto the couch with him.

"Just missed you. I'm just back for a few minutes," she whispered, curling up against his warm body. Yawning, Ron pulled her close and they fell over on the couch, a tangle of limbs. Within seconds, he was back to sleep, but Hermione remained a live wire, wide awake. She stroked Ron's hair, breathing in his scent, and trying to not writhe in self-hatred so much.

Hours later, she prised herself from Ron's hold, and magically moved him to the bedroom and tucked him in. Placing a last kiss on his stubbled cheek, she turned out the lights and left the flat.

* * *

When she Apparated back to the compound, she was nearly startled to death by a fervent banging on her door.

"Dr. Granger — _wake up!_" Nick Fury was booming. Hermione straightened her jumper, which had become wrinkled from being crushed beneath Ron, and mastering herself, opened the door to find Fury, Agent Hill, Steve, and Clint waiting.

"No need to get shouty about it," Hermione teased a bit weakly, though Fury showed no amusement at her little joke. Steve, however, began sniggering and had to be rapped tactfully on the back by Clint. Steve was in his absurd Captain America costume, and Clint was bedecked in more leather than Hermione had thought possible in a single outfit.

"Loki's been sighted in London, Dr. Granger, and we want you to go with us to help contain him," Fury explained quickly, wasting no time on pleasantries. "The chopper's set to leave in five."

"Why don't we just Apparate? Where in London is he?" Hermione asked, forgetting her own personal turmoil as she snatched a jacket from her closet. She locked her door and, wand in her teeth, hastily braided her bushy hair back. "Apparating is...like teleporting," she added as an afterthought. Steve blanched, though Clint perked up.

"That sounds fun," he said eagerly. Fury was scowling.

"You can teleport, Dr. Granger, but the rest of us will be going in the normal fashi—"

"With all due respect, Captain Fury — it will take us hours to get to London. Why not just go with Dr. Granger, sir?" Agent Hill interrupted. Hermione shot her a grateful smile behind Fury's back.

"I second that," said Clint loudly. "If Loki gets to teleport, then so should we."

"Fine. Whatever," grouched Fury. "Just come to the conference room first."

* * *

"Okay, are you ready? Hold on tight, because if you don't —"

"Dr. Granger, you have already explained the phenomenon of splinching to us. There isn't time," reminded Tony Stark from across the room. Apparently, he would be getting to London by means of a jetpack attached to his suit. Now she saw why they called him Iron Man; he was covered from head to toe in a metal suit.

On either arm, she now had Clint, who was in Hawkeye gear, with his arrows and crossbow strapped to his back, and Steve, who was decked out as Captain America in his red, white, and blue spangled suit. In her plain jumper and wool jacket, Hermione felt perhaps a bit underdressed.

"Right, sorry," she amended, flushing. "I'll be back for the rest of you in a second!"

And, holding on tightly to Clint and Steve, Hermione turned them on the spot.

They reappeared in London, across from Big Ben. Police sirens wailed in the night, their blue and red lights glimmering on the wet streets. As per usual of London, it was pouring rain. "Okay, I've got to go back for the others," she shouted over the immense din. Atop Big Ben, a figure was silhouetted, and Hermione's heart began to pound like a war drum as she Disapparated. She knew in her heart that that was Loki.

Once again, having transported the others to London, Hermione reappeared and was again filled with amazement at how calm she always remained during battles...and also, amazement at just how much she had missed this: the frenzy, the adrenaline, the fear — and on top of it all, the chance to triumph, to prove her worth all over again.

"He's been wreaking havoc on all of London with rebels from Asgard," explained Fury as he ushered her across the street. "He's trying to take back the throne." The others were beginning to set up a perimeter.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Capture him, Granger — but if it comes down to it..."

Fury turned to face her now, gripping her shoulders. His one visible eye was narrowed in consternation. "...If it comes down to it," he began again. Hermione balked.

"I don't kill," she said shortly. "I'll capture him and duel him if I must — but I will _not_ attempt to kill him."

Fury's eyes hardened, but then, he seemed to deflate.

"Just capture him, or at least maim him enough so that we can gain control of the situation. Can you do that for us?"

"Yes, I hope so," said Hermione softly. Fury relinquished his grip on her and jogged back where the other Avengers were working to clear the area. Looking up at the top of Big Ben, where Loki was surveying his fine handiwork, Hermione bit her lip, and turned on the spot for the last time.

She reappeared a metre away from Loki and nearly fell off the sloped top, which was deadly slippery from the rain, and had to grapple to regain her balance. On the other face, Loki was poised, cool, calm, and utterly collected.

"Dr. Granger — fancy meeting you here," he greeted, his voice only just carrying on the wind. His eyes remained fixed on the chaos below. Trembling from fear of falling, Hermione gripped her wand with a sweaty hand, and picked her way closer to Loki.

"Yes, what a coincidence," she panted. Once again, she was captivated as Loki turned back to look at her. He was garbed in what she supposed was more traditional Asgardian clothing, and he cut a majestic figure indeed; his cloak billowed out behind him and, just as in the illustrations of some of the books she had brought with her, his gleaming gold horned helmet covered quite a bit of his face, highlighting his shadowed eyes and pretty lips — the lips she had imagined kissing mere hours before. "Loki, what are you doing?"

"Look how easily the pathetic humans kneel before their gods, Dr. Granger — look how willingly they submit." Loki gestured to the streets. "Humankind must accept that they wish to be ruled; it is their only path to true freedom."

"It looks to me like they don't want to, actually, as they appear to be putting up a bit of a fight," Hermione pointed out, still panting as she grasped for something to hold onto. Her terror of being up so very high compounded with her fear of, and desire for, Loki, and yet, instead of backing down, instead of swooning, she stood taller. "Loki, you can either put a stop to this nonsense and come quietly; or, should you choose to resist, you can be defeated by me. I'm warning you — the second option will hurt quite a bit."

Finally, Loki looked back at her over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck rose up. Though Loki was her prey, he had the quality of making her feel as though she were the hunted and not the hunter.

"Or you could join me, Dr. Granger." He looked back down at the streets now.

"That wasn't one of the options I suggested." Hermione brandished her wand, forgetting about her fear of heights. "_Expelliarmus,_" she murmured. Harry had proven that it was better to first try to disarm. But Loki lazily flicked his staff, sending the jet of light that was her spell away and into the night. He turned to face her fully now, and he was smirking.

"I told you — those don't work on me." With a grimace of effort, Loki waved his staff, and an invisible force hit Hermione in the stomach, sending her flying over the edge.

"_Impedimenta_," she shrieked, and thankfully slowed down just long enough to grasp onto the side of the clock, nearly dislocating her shoulder in the process. She looked up, her sweaty fingers slipping on the already wet surface, and saw Loki's silhouette standing at the edge, looking down at her, a halo of rain around him. "_Confringo!_"

The ledge on which Loki had been standing burst into pieces, and Loki nearly toppled over the edge as well. Gasping for air, Hermione's feet slipped on a ledge before she finally found her footing, and seeing it to be her only option, jumped, kicking off the wall and turning in mid-air, all the while praying that this would work.

She reappeared behind Loki. "_Immobulus!" _Loki froze, then vanished, and a sensuous but cold laugh echoed throughout the pouring rain.

"Humans always fall for that one — at least this was your first time. Thor falls for it every —"

"_Immobulus!_" Hermione cried once more. The spell hit Loki and she leapt forward, intending to tackle him — when his arm closed round her, and suddenly, everything around her was vanishing, and London was slipping away...

* * *

They reappeared in an enormous golden room, with incredible views of a pink- and purple-tinged sunset. Hermione almost fell to the ground, but was caught by strong arms bolstering her and pulling her to her feet. When she looked up, set against the magnificent sunset was a sprawling golden throne...on which Loki himself was slouched. The Loki that had been dueling with her on Big Ben vanished, and she was left alone with what was (perhaps) the true Loki. His chin rested in his hand, with his long, elegant fingers partially masking his lovely lips.

Hermione's face flushed with anger, embarrassment, and desire. She began to clap loudly.

"Oh, very good, Loki — very good trick! Very clever!" she yelled sarcastically, her claps echoing off the walls. Loki sniggered behind his fingers.

"I do appreciate a woman with a sense of humor," he remarked lightly.

"Do you have _any idea_ of the enormity of your foolishness? Thor will return and see you have taken his throne, and then—"

"And then what? I'm already banished from Asgard, but as you can see, that means nothing." Loki rose to his feet, staff in hand, and began pacing towards her slowly, weightily, his eyes roving over her.

"You have caused your brother endless pain. Are you happy?" she snarled, her inner conflict rendering her unreasonable. Loki arched an elegant brow as he reached her. A smirk curved his lips, and yet, it read as an ugly, cruel, and predatory look. He leaned in closer.

"You think my brother knows pain, Dr. Granger?" he asked silkily, his voice just barely above a whisper. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing into cruel, knowing crescents. "His pain is nothing, in the face of mine."

He began to circle her now, slowly. When he was behind her, he leaned in closer. Hermione stood rigid, feeling his breath tickle her neck. "I saw you tonight, you know. I saw you with your stupid piteous little boy; I saw you thinking of me, thinking of my hands on your body—"

She knew what this was, and she didn't have to take it. Hermione scowled and swung her elbow backwards, into Loki's stomach, and in the same breath, slammed her foot down hard on his instep. Loki let out a grunt of pain, his staff clattering to the floor, and Hermione whirled around, wand at the ready, but the staff flew into Loki's hand and with a cry he unleashed ropes of blue light.

The ropes furled around her body and Hermione fell to the ground, as Loki stood over her, smirking.

"_Diffindo,_" she cried. "_Incarcerous._" Loki did not have enough time to defend himself, and with solid ropes, he was bound. Too afraid of losing her chance to restrain him once and for all, Hermione again leapt towards him. "_Petrificus totalus!" _As his limbs locked, Hermione slammed into him. His helmet fell off his head and clattered on the floor a few feet away.

For one burning moment, their eyes met, as Hermione braced herself on Loki's hard chest. She held her breath, waiting for him to vanish, or break free, but he stayed stock-still. The rainwater that had soaked Hermione's clothes and hair now dripped down to the floor; it was the only noise in the throneroom.

Loki's eyes, so different from Thor's, broke Hermione's heart. From what Thor had told her, she knew that a world of pain lay beyond them. And though his actions were not excusable, she could not help but see them in light of his past.

He was just a spoilt little boy, kicking and whinging for attention...but he was also a man in excruciating pain. Out on top of Big Ben, Loki had resembled Voldemort so much, and yet here, Hermione could hardly pinpoint any similarities. Voldemort had been empty and cold — he had moved through life without knowing love, happiness, kindness, generosity — but Loki was, by contrast, so full of vitality and all of the pain and sadness that life could give.

"Your brother loves you, Loki," she said softly. "Your father loves you."

She saw his eyes grow wet; and then, suddenly, she was thrown several metres back, landing on her back and knocking the breath from her lungs. Her wand slipped out of her hand and clattered away, and out of reach. Loki appeared over her, wearing his helmet and bearing his staff once more.

"You stupid, foolish girl — did you truly believe that I could be softened by your silly little sweet nothings?" his voice carried; this was the loudest she had heard him speak yet. His face twisted into a look so filled with pain, hatred, and fury that she was gripped by a sudden, unexpected fear. "I am not something that is broken; I do not need to be fixed!" he screamed.

And then, Loki was thrown backwards; Thor's hammer, Mjolnir, hit Loki. Thor and a group of warriors following him exploded into the throneroom.

"Loki!" Thor cried in rage, but once again, Loki vanished, his laugh remaining, echoing with Thor's cry even after he was gone.

Hermione sat up, and, entirely unexpectedly, felt tears begin to slip down her cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: Sooo. I had to bump up the rating for this baby. And I'm really unsure about this chapter, so, meh. Thanks for all of the amazing and wonderful responses, and thanks to the following for reviewing last time: **Dresden Blue, ****Cihsegin, MeriLynelle, wolfie22, ****booklove44, ****tenoh27, Zombie Reine, Following Padfoot's Pawprints, liljennmartin, UnattainableDarkAngel, Perse B J, none654321, Guest, SamarKanda, Guest, helloimnikki, moor, DocteureCrane, patricia pc, anticollision, chris7100, Hermitt, Cellar, ShimmeringWater, LazyKiss, cullen's pet, NorthernLights25, Guest, inked quill, Shan84, ShadowCrawlerCiel, LeonaMasha, gleeismylove, and marana1.**

**Please review!**

Disclaimer: The HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Three**

* * *

"By all accounts, you saved the day, Dr. Granger. We may have not captured Loki, but without him there to cause the chaos, his cronies gave up," reported Agent Hill, whose pretty blue eyes were shining with admiration for Hermione. "No lives were lost at London tonight, and that's the most important thing."

"But I lost him," Hermione replied haplessly, massaging her temples. She was so tired — so, _so_ tired — and so weak, yet her mind was racing.

"Perhaps it is impossible to effectively contain Loki, and we must wait until some other force ends him," suggested Agent Hill. Hermione bolted upright, galvanized by Agent Hill's words.

"Nothing is impossible," she said briskly. "_Nothing_ is. We'll just have to think outside the box a bit more."

Fury was regarding her now with an unreadable, intense expression. It took Hermione a moment to realize that it was one of respect, and the realization shook her.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn't kidding when he said you were the best witch for the job — I get that now," he said. "You've done more to stop Loki in one day than the rest of us have in years, with the best technology and a team of the most powerful people in the universe on our side."

"Well, magic helps," Hermione replied, flushing right up to her hairline. She looked down at her hands and quickly made to change the subject. "How will you continue the mission to contain Loki?"

"That's just it," said Tony, stepping up next to Fury and Hill. "We were kinda hoping _you _would lead the team."

There was a rushing in her ears as Hermione's jaw slackened. Hastily, she snapped it shut.

"Th-that is a great honor," she stammered, looking away from the warm smiles of the team members standing behind Fury, and the admiration in Agent Hill's eyes. "I must admit, I've not felt so appreciated since the last time I brought homemade biscuits in to work on a Monday," she added sheepishly, earning a few laughs.

And then reality came crashing down as Hermione finally thought of the one person she ought to have been thinking of all along. _Dammit. Ron. I can't forget about him._ "...Would I be staying here?" she asked tentatively. Already, she was picturing his blue eyes filled with hurt and betrayal that she was taking on an assignment so far away from him. The guilt was sinking in.

_Oh, Merlin,_ she thought as she began to panic. Loki had said he had seen her with Ron...and either he had been making a lucky guess, or he really had seen her — which meant that Ron was a potential target, in the rather likely event that Loki decided he felt like targeting her personally.

"Yes; we expect that you would live here at least most of the time."

Hermione slumped in her chair. This mission with Loki was going to take forever, and her wedding wasn't even planned yet. _Looks like I'll be postponing it...again... _The idea of postponing the wedding brought some relief mixed with dread. She and Ron had already postponed the wedding a number of times... if they kept doing it, it might never happen at all.

She didn't know how she felt about that.

Obviously, she loved Ron — that much was certain. But nothing else in her life right now seemed certain, and Hermione was beginning to wonder if simply loving someone was even enough. It seemed such a cliché; yet there it was. She could love Ron with all of her heart, but they had been together for ten years now — Harry and Ginny were married; all of their other friends were married — and it was just them left, lagging behind. And every time they felt like things were finally moving forward — like they might finally be able to get married and begin their life together — well, something (usually her job) popped up in the way of things.

And sometimes, in the dark and safe corners of her keen mind, Hermione wondered whether her job kept getting in the way...or if _she_ kept_ letting_ it get in the way.

"Why don't we all go take a nap; Dr. Granger can have some time to think on this; and we'll come back together for breakfast and make decisions then," said Steve, rising to his feet. For the first time, Hermione could appreciate his soothing, genial quality. With murmurs of assent, the team dispersed.

When she got back to her room, however, the feeling of insecurity returned — not insecurity as in a lack of confidence, but insecurity in knowing that walls and locked doors meant nothing to Loki. She wasn't safe here, or anywhere — no one was.

Back in the days of Voldemort's second rise to power, she had had an inkling of this feeling, but perhaps back then she had been much younger and much more naïve. Now that she had already lived through one tyrant's rise to power, she already could anticipate the potential loss and pain...And anticipating it was like anticipating ripping off the bandaid or sticking in the needle: it just made it all the worse.

Worse yet was _knowing_ said tyrant personally. Hermione had never met Voldemort, and though through Harry's and her own research she had immersed herself in his life as much as possible, she had never felt familiar to him — though that could also have been that no one was actually familiar to Voldemort. He was not a loved one to anyone, whereas Loki was a brother, son, and friend.

Before they had left to hunt the Horcruxes, Hermione had begun to feel the pressure of having a loved one become a possible target; she had so cleanly taken the steps to prevent that from happening to the best of her ability. It had been the hardest thing she had ever done, to charm her parents' memories and erase her own existence. But in another light, it had been so easy. They hadn't known; they couldn't put up a fight; and at the end of it all, she had always known (contingent upon whether she lived) she could always come back, lift the charm, explain things, and eventually they would understand.

Ron, however, wouldn't understand. He was her equal in many ways — he'd stood beside Harry (with the exception of a few exceedingly difficult weeks that winter during the Horcrux hunt), and he had fought just as hard. She couldn't just Charm his memory away and expect to not have any repercussions or consequences.

Her sharp mind was beginning to uncover a solution, but her soft heart was not liking it.

She felt nauseated, heartbroken, and angry. Why _couldn't_ she have both love and work? Harry managed it just fine; Ginny managed it fine as well. _They're different,_ a tiny voice piped up. Harry and Ginny were not so dependent on each other; their devotion was implicit. Between her and Ron, things were never certain, and something was always having to be proven.

She would have to separate from Ron.

It was the only practical solution. If she passed on this opportunity to do so much good, she knew she would despise herself for it, and would grow bitter and angry towards Ron down the road. If she took the opportunity but also tried to keep Ron, well...that would end in tears, as things often did with Ron.

If she did separate from Ron, it would hurt — but logically she knew she would get over it at some point. There would be other boys (probably...maybe) but she'd never get another opportunity such as this.

But how to separate herself from Ron? Just the idea of going and ending it with him made her eyes burn with the threat of tears. _I'll just sleep on it,_ she told herself.

However, it was futile. She lay awake for hours, jumping or twitching at every creak, her stomach churning and her mind racing, until finally, in the wee hours of the morning, she passed out from exhaustion.

The consequence of this was that she was not awake to witness a figure materialize in her bedroom, hunched in pain and tremblingly weak. The figure stood there for an age, regarding her sleeping form. Finally, with some deliberation, he raised a staff over her and pointed it at her heart, shaking with effort and, perhaps, fear.

But the figure did nothing. He lowered his staff, turned away from her, and disappeared into thin air.

* * *

In Loki's earliest memories, he could detect the seams in his family. His family was not a difficult one to analyze. Some nights, at supper, surrounded by Odin's beloved court members, Loki would simply sit silently and observe. At this time, both he and Thor were barely tall enough to see over the table's edge, and in their desperation to be grown-ups, they had finally gotten their way and had been allowed to sit at the table.

Well, in reality, it was Thor's way, and Loki had gotten it for him.

Even as a child, Loki's affection for his brother possessed a silvered and sharpened edge: he loved his brother without question, but he also disdained him. Often, Thor's temper tantrums would echo throughout the palace. He would kick, he would scream, and he would do this until he got what he wanted. Didn't Thor see that this was the slowest possible way to acquiring what you wanted? At a young age, Loki learned to use Thor's idiocy to his own advantage. Their mother, Frigga, was always so relieved at Loki's good behavior in comparison to Thor's behavior that she was likely to be lenient with him.

So while he was filled with bemusement at the fact that his brother had not yet figured this out, he was also pleased. Thor was unquestionably superior in their father's eyes; Loki was forever Thor's shadow, lingering behind, barely visible and only becoming darker in contrast to Thor's light. But in Frigga's eyes, he was the clever one; he was the better one.

The difference in preference of the two sons between Odin and Frigga was one of the seams, and as a child, Loki found a perverse delight in observing it. With a private joke with his mother, he could upset his father; he could upset their marriage. Of course, being a small boy, he did not truly understand what went into a marriage, but he could perceive the symptoms of its decay, and he could perceive his role in it. He could feel his own power, and at such a small age, it delighted, scared, upset, and invigorated him. Thor could kick and scream for his hammer all he wanted, but sometimes, the best way to get a person's attention was by whispering.

So as he grew up, Loki learned to charm and beguile. He could sense the weaknesses of others; he could so easily learn what precisely to say to bend their emotions this way or that. And as he grew into his features and as his wit and cleverness became more apparent, he came closer and closer to being Thor's equal.

But he could never quite make it.

* * *

When Hermione woke the next morning, before any thoughts even came to her, she was overcome with a feeling of dread that confused her. _What is wrong? _she wondered sleepily, rolling over and rubbing her eyes. For a moment, she blinked blearily at her surroundings. _Where am I? _

It all came rushing back, knocking her back into the pillows like a ton of bricks. Remembering the decision she had reached last night made it all the worse, and for one of the first times in many years, Hermione would have preferred to go back to sleep rather than face her problems.

That was thing: she was so highly logical, and yet so highly emotional, that oftentimes her logic and passion butted heads. Normally, she ensured that the logic won out, and often when she was dreading something, she was capable of forcing herself to face it head-on. After all, nothing could be evaded forever, and in this case, she was a bit short on time. She had to decide _now_. She could not dawdle and go back to sleep and lay in bed all day, moaning and groaning about her problems.

Still, it _did_ sound appealing.

Hermione finally forced herself up and took a shower. When she was just finishing getting dressed, there was a knock on her door.

"Who is it," Hermione called, her voice still raspy from sleep. If it were Fury, she might just say she was still in bed. She did not think she could face his grim practicality at the moment.

"It's me — er, Jane," came Jane's frazzled but timid voice. Hermione slumped in relief.

"Oh, come in." She pulled a jumper over her head and flicked her wand to unlock the door, revealing Jane bearing two mugs of steaming coffee and two plates of eggs and toast on a tray. She kicked the door closed behind her.

"I just figured you might not be in the mood for the cafeteria," she muttered, setting the tray down on the desk and unwrapping plastic forks. Hermione stared in surprise. "Maria wanted to join too, but then Fury needed her for something."

"Maria...?"

"Oh, Agent Hill," Jane said quickly.

"That is so nice. Thank you," she stammered, feeling her face flush. Jane shrugged and took her own plate and sat on the desk, and Hermione settled on the edge of the bedspread.

"It's a little overwhelming here for normal people — I mean, er, not that you're _normal_, per se, but just that you aren't some psycho cape-wearing chick from another realm or whatever," Jane explained, getting a bit flustered. "And I saw how upset you looked last night, and I remembered how hard it was to make the decision to come here..."

Hermione looked down at her plate.

"I think I'm going to do it, though," she said in a small voice. "But it means losing my fiancee...and I know there's no way to have both. But I just can't choose him over this..."

Jane shrugged.

"I was engaged too, frankly, and ended up choosing work over him. At the end of the day, I'm glad I did it. The extreme circumstance just brought to light what I would have figured out down the road anyway."

"And you met Thor," Hermione pointed out with a sly smile which Jane returned.

"My dad always told me that if you follow your passion, everything else will make itself fit. And if you don't follow your passion, nothing will ever quite fit."

"He's a wise man," said Hermione. She watched Jane's face fall slightly.

"Yeah, he was," she replied, her voice breaking. She blinked back tears rapidly. "Anyway," she began again, having drawn in a deep breath, "how are you planning on breaking things off with your fiancee?"

"I haven't a clue." Hermione shoveled some eggs into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. She trusted Jane, and felt she could confide in her already, but telling her the thing primarily haunting her involved revealing a bit more of herself than she might have liked. "When I was in the throne room, with Loki, he...well, he said something that I found threatening. He commented on my fiancee. You see, last night, before we went to London, I had Apparated back home just to see Ron. I was...feeling guilty. I had been having unfaithful thoughts, and I wanted some peace of mind."

"About who? Clint? Steve?" Jane asked, her mouth full of egg. Hermione snorted.

"Merlin, _no_. Much worse," she admitted. She watched Jane's jaw slacken, and a bit of chewed-up egg fell out as her eyes went wide in comprehension.

"Well... to be fair...he _is, _you know, a Norse god. They're not generally ugly," she finally conceded, though her voice was still faint from shock.

Hermione was relieved that Jane had caught on so quickly, and she nodded.

"And there was just this tension between us, and you must know how it feels, to always feel like you haven't really..." she paused, Loki's words echoing in her mind, "...met your match."

Jane nodded, her shiny brown hair swishing with the movement.

"I do know what you mean. And Loki is charismatic — that's why he's such a menace." Both women stared at their plates, lost in thought. "So what exactly did he say?"

"He said he knew that I had been thinking...those thoughts...and that he knew that I had been to see my fiancee."

Jane frowned.

"But how? He can't read minds too, can he?"

"Er, no." Hermione went bright pink as Jane's mouth formed a little 'o' of understanding.

"Um. Right. Well then. You've definitely got to break things off with the fiancee, as soon as possible. If Loki thinks he can hurt you through him, he'll do it."

* * *

After Jane left, Hermione had some time before the meeting. She knew she should have been using this time to break things off with Ron — or at least determine _how_ she was going to do that — but instead, she found herself sitting cross-legged on her bed, the Pensieve in her lap. Again she observed the glimmers of gold within the pool of silver. _If not now, then when? _she wondered. Loki would always present a threat, but perhaps the key to his defeat might lay within the memories Thor had shared with her. She would have to get over her fear of Loki appearing when she was not prepared.

Drawing in a deep breath, Hermione took the plunge, and dove into Thor's childhood.

She was falling for quite a while. When she landed on her feet, she found herself in some sort of garden, with high walls on all sides. Beyond the wall's ledge, the sun was that of late afternoon — or so she imagined. She was in Asgard, after all, and she had no way of knowing whether the daily cycle of the sun was even remotely similar.

At first blush, the garden seemed empty, until two boys exploded through the metal door up ahead, followed closely by two armored attendants, clutching staffs, spears, and swords, and looking quite harried.

The first boy, slightly taller and stockier, had a full head of golden hair, and was laughing heartily, his cheeks rosy with excitement. He wore a red tunic with a crest, and was dragging a skinny, lanky boy behind him, whose laughter was much more reserved, and though his eyes were bright, his face remained pale.

It was Thor and Loki.

They looked to about eight or nine years old. Thor skidded to a stop in the center pavilion of the garden and released Loki's hand, only to lunge at one of the attendants.

"I want the sword!" he bellowed, attempting to snatch a sword from the frazzled-looking attendant. Loki hung back, his head tilted to the side as he observed. Hermione was surprised to feel a pang of affection for young Loki, whose blue-green eyes were glimmering with cleverness.

"I can take the spear, then," he said in a soft, polite voice. The attendant's face crumpled.

"Thank Asgard for you, Loki. You'd do well to learn some manners from your little brother, Thor. Just for that, Loki gets the sword."

"What! That's not fair!" wailed Thor, tears streaming down his cheeks. Hermione sniggered as she watched Loki do a poor job of hiding his triumph.

"Of course it's fair. If you had behaved in a polite and princelike manner, as Loki did, you would have got the sword. Now, show me your forms," prattled the attendant. Loki, though still a child, moved with a fluid grace that Thor's stockier, more burly form did not allow for, and immediately he slipped from one form to the next with the sword, earning an admiring sigh from both attendants and a grumble from Thor, who sulkily began slashing at the air with the spear. Loki's lips kept twitching, as though he were attempting to stifle a grin.

But then an older man came through the metal door, and Hermione quickly realized it was their father — Odin. Immediately, Thor brightened, and began executing much more dynamic forms with the spear.

"Look, father, I could beat Loki with this spear, even if he had a sword!"

Odin's eye crinkled in amusement, and Hermione saw Loki's smile falter. It was as though a candle had been blown out. He knelt down between both boys, and took their weapons.

"But we all know that Thor is an offensive fighter, and Loki is defensive — you both have got the wrong weapons." He switched the weapons and Thor lit up, beaming at his father, and oblivious to Loki's distress. "However, Thor, you would do well to try and learn from Loki. Sometimes, defensive fighting is more important."

Hermione saw this for what it was: Odin had realized how Loki was feeling and had tried to make the situation better. _Too little, too late,_ she thought grimly. That was such a fragile age; even the most minute of offenses were damaging. Odin straightened and clapped both boys on the shoulder, and the memory began to fade.

The world reassembled around Hermione; she was in a banquet hall of some sort now, and stood near a long table packed with diners and so heavily laden with dishes that the table itself was no longer visible. It was a loud and cheery scene and reminded Hermione of the Great Hall, especially before the holidays.

At the head of the table, Odin and Frigga sat side by side; Frigga was quiet and observing the scene before her, and Odin was deep in conversation with a man adjacent to him. It was only when Frigga and a number of other guests were bent over their plates in hysterical laughter that Hermione noticed Thor and Loki.

They were older now; probably around the age of fifteen. Thor was beginning to grow into his heavy stature and was looking less stocky and more strong; by contrast, Loki seemed awkward and still very much the ugly duckling. The finely carved features which would one day make Loki a compelling and attractive man now were giving him a beaky, wifty look to him.

And yet, in spite of all this, it was not Thor whose wit the guests were enjoying — it was Loki's. His eyes, that perfect cross between steel, emerald, and azure, were again glimmering with wit — as though he were in possession of an amusing secret he would like very much to share with you. It made the guests — not just the women; the men as well — lean in closer, it made them nearly sycophantic in their admiration for him.

Hermione had expected that Thor might begrudge Loki the attention, but quite the contrary: Thor was just as enraptured by Loki's story as the rest of them. _This must be one of the gold memories, _thought Hermione sadly, as she watched Thor grinning at a particularly inappropriate and cheeky quip from Loki. The pure affection and admiration shining in Thor's eyes was heartbreaking. She watched Loki turn to Thor, and saw there, in that look, the same privacy that Fred and George Weasley had shared: they were partners in crime, they were not simply of the same cloth but of the very same thread, inseparable and forever entwined.

_...This is what they've lost, _Hermione realized, and she found herself gasping with pain and empathy for both brothers. Clearly Thor and Loki no longer had this type of bond...and what remained was only giving them agony.

It called a certain quote to mind that Hermione recalled reading: _it is the civil wars that are the bloodiest. _Proof of that lay here, in the seam between Loki and Thor that would soon be ripped open. Here, the seam was invisible and undetectable — soon it would be a gaping abyss.

"Hey, Prince Loki," said a little girl beside him, tugging at his tunic, "can you show us some magic?"

"Loki is not a trained monkey," laughed Odin, but Frigga, Thor, and the other guests encouraged Loki. With the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his pretty lips, Loki turned to the girl.

"What is this?" he asked, holding up his glass water goblet. The little girl looked almost offended.

"A water goblet," she said with great condescension. Loki arched his brows, frowning slightly.

"Are you quite positive?"

"Yes! Show me a magic trick!" insisted the little girl. Loki's eyes were dancing.

"It isn't magic — you're just not looking at it from the right angle," he said softly. And he covered the water glass with his hand. When he pulled his hand away, it was a sparkling amber jewel, the precise color of the little girl's eyes. She let out a shriek of delight as the guests around him clapped and whooped their approval, and the little girl snatched the jewel from Loki and held it up to the light.

It reminded her of the rosy flower, and Hermione's chest tightened. _He's just a showoff, isn't he? _Yet it was more than that — Loki had as much capacity to destroy as he did to create. And by now Hermione could tell that Loki was quite apt at creating things of beauty. His mind was so filled with loveliness and destruction; as with all great sources of creativity, Loki possessed both light and dark.

It wasn't magic — she just wasn't looking at him from the right angle.

Hermione traversed a number of memories after that: she watched the two brothers fight alongside one another in battle; she perceived Loki's increasing emotional distance and watched Thor perceive it as well; and finally, she watched Loki manipulate his way to the throne, lying to Thor and so many others along the way.

When Hermione pulled out of the Pensieve, gasping and trembling, she was bereft of words or coherent thought for quite a long time. She simply sat there staring in a stupor at the opposing wall, by the desk, where the flower had been. She was now regretting destroying that flower, because it was proof that Loki was capable of creating, of beautifying...of loving. Unlike Voldemort, he had had a past of genuine love and friendship. Unlike Voldemort, he was a man of intense feeling, of intense and passionate love and hate...

"Dr. Granger — I am here to escort you to the meeting," sounded Agent Hill's voice from the other side of the door, following a curt knock. Hermione set aside the Pensieve and braced herself. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and opened the door. "Have you decided to stay on?" Now, Agent Hill's voice held a touch of familiarity and concern. _What a nice woman,_ Hermione thought fondly. Between Agent Hill and Jane, Hermione had never felt so comfortable around other women, and so filled with admiration. Certainly she had had some excellent female role models during her time at Hogwarts, but those were extreme circumstances.

"Yes, I have — it's just a matter of breaking things off with Ro— well, with my fiancee," she replied. Her voice caught and she felt her eyes burn with the threat of tears. Agent Hill's eyes grew suspiciously wet.

"We all have to make that choice for ourselves," she said softly. "No one can do it for us." She turned. "But I am truly glad that you're staying with us."

"I am too."

Hermione locked her door with a flick of her wand and walked in surprisingly companionable silence with Agent Hill to the conference room. When she arrived, the usual crowd was there, save for an especially lovely woman of about thirty or so, with pretty auburn hair in a wavy bob and garbed in a fitted black outfit, complete with high heeled boots. She was lounging next to Clint, looking almost bored.

"Dr. Hermione Granger, meet Natasha Romanoff," said Fury, wasting no time in cutting to the chase. He gestured to the auburn-haired woman, who languidly waved at Hermione. Her movements were elegant, graceful, and feline, and her curves were soft and feminine...but her eyes were hard, flinty, and threatening.

"Pleasure," said Natasha simply. Hermione returned a tight smile. Fury now turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Well, I'm staying. I just need to take tomorrow to break things off with my fiancee. I don't want him to be a potential target," Hermione said quickly, blinking rapidly at the onset of tears. Tony began to clap, until Steve tactfully stopped him with a silent gesture.

"Have you considered the next step?" piped up Dr. Banner. Hermione pressed her lips together.

"I have been using a magical device to view Thor's memories of Loki. I believe that the least destructive method of putting a stop to Loki is to convince him to realize what he is losing by continuing on this path. We cannot contain Loki; he does not seem to respond to my magic." Admitting this aloud made her stomach turn, and Hermione looked down at her shoes. "I am still trying to determine what that methodology would look like."

No one spoke for several minutes.

"How exactly are we supposed to convince Loki of anything if we can't even catch him?" drawled Natasha. Hermione flinched.

"I'm working on that part," she said waspishly, instantly regretting lashing out. Her cheeks grew warm. "But Loki appears to respond to antagonism with more antagonism. If we keep fighting fire with fire, so to speak, we risk escalation beyond our control." She looked to Jane now. "I want Dr. Foster to begin working on trying to see if we can trace astronomical and weather patterns to Loki's activity." Now she looked to Tony. "And," she continued, gaining confidence, "I want your labs to come up with a tracking device we can somehow place on Loki at our next interaction."

"I like this plan," said Natasha. "And isn't there...I dunno...some sort of spell or whatever that could trace him too?"

"Yes, actually, but I'm not sure if it will work on Loki — I could try it on Thor, I suppose."

Natasha's evident support changed Hermione's mind about her, and she felt herself standing taller. She looked to Fury for his reaction to this plan but he remained impassive.

"I say we try it. At this point, we don't have much else," he finally said a bit grimly. Hermione stared at him, trying to observe his feelings and thoughts, but he remained as emotional as stone. _What is he hiding,_ she wondered.

They dispersed. Before Hermione could return to her work, however, she would have to finally face her fears — she would have to break things off with Ron.

* * *

With a shaking hand and wet eyes, Hermione knocked on the door to their flat later that night. She ground her teeth, willing herself not to cry, as she began to see all of the logistical issues of this. She and Ron lived together — she didn't have time to move out, find a new flat, all of that.

The door opened, revealing Ron who was stuffing his face with a ham sandwich. His blue eyes widened.

"Hawmiongee," he managed to say through a mouthful of bread, ham, and cheese. "Wha ah you gooing heaw?"

"C-can I come in?"

Ron looked as bemused as one could look whilst chewing on a sandwich, and he opened the door a bit wider. Hermione, hugging herself with her arms, went inside.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, having finally swallowed the rest of his sandwich. "I thought you weren't due back here for weeks!"

"That's just it," Hermione said. She turned to Ron, saw his blue eyes — the blue eyes she loved. _I can't lie to him. He's my best friend, beside Harry. _"I will be away longer than I thought — I don't know how long, really. Kingsley lied to me. It turns out it's a full-time mission, and until it is completed, I am not to have any contact with you...or anyone else."

Ron blinked, and Hermione watched his neck and ears flush.

"Then don't take it. Problem solved." He slung his arms round Hermione, moving to peck her on the cheek. She pulled away.

"I can't _not_ take it, Ron. This is my career. We can't argue about this, because there's no time. But the harder I work, the sooner I'll be home."

Ron's whole face was flushing now, beneath his freckles.

"You can't just drop this on me and walk out!" he exploded. Hermione flinched; she flinched because she knew he was right. She was in the wrong here, and all things considered, he was taking it all rather well.

"I know," she said in a small voice. "I know this is horrible. Believe me — I don't want it to be like this." The tears were a strong threat now, and Hermione turned away. She felt Ron move towards her; silently, he pulled her close. "I - I'm so sorry," she said wetly into his chest. She felt him sigh.

"You always choose other things first, before you choose me." His voice was like lead. "You choose Harry and Horcruxes and your career — but it's never me."

Hermione pulled away, suddenly angry.

"I'm not some bloody housewife, Ronald," she retorted hotly. Ron's face contorted in rage.

"You bloody well know that's not what I mean!" He raised his voice now. "I don't expect you to give up everything — I just want you to think of me before you think of yourself, once in a while!"

"I didn't have a choice here! I have never had a choice!" She seethed at the look in his eyes, so accusatory. "I do the things that need to be done; I do the things that are most important. I don't choose what is important to _me_ at a given time — I could never possibly do something like that."

"That, to me, is called a choice. And just because it's what you want more doesn't make it _not_ a choice." He faltered, and she saw a tear slipping down his cheek, along his nose, and was overcome with the urge to kiss it away. "You're the most important person in my life...but I'm not the most important person in yours."

"I never asked for it to be that way," she replied, feeling herself crying in earnest now. "I love you so much, Ron. I always have. But I've already gotten stuck in this and- and- " her voice was breaking now, "If I don't break off contact with you, you might become a potential target."

She hadn't intended to tell him that, but now it was out there in the open. She watched his eyes widen.

"Target? Hermione, what the _fuck_ is this mission?"

"It's too late — they need me. And I can't back out now. If I did, it would be putting you and everyone we love or care about in grave danger." She mastered herself. "I've got to go now, Ron. I promise I will try to come back as soon as I can."

She pushed past him, to the door. Touching him or looking at him now would be more pain than she could bear.

"And what if you don't come back? What then?"

His voice was hollow yet laden with pain. Hermione grit her teeth against the urge to sob, to turn back to him and hold him.

"I will come back. I will. I love you."

And then she left.

* * *

Hermione walked along Diagon Alley, observing the peace and quiet of nighttime. A sudden rage, a sudden hatred, overtook her. She wanted to _kill_ Loki. She _despised _him. And moreover, she despised SHIELD and Kingsley for getting her locked into this mess.

Even though, deep down, she knew she could have backed out if she had really wanted to.

_"The extreme circumstance just brought to light what I would have figured out down the road anyway." _Jane's words echoed in her mind as Hermione reached a bend in the alley; round the corner lay the Leaky Cauldron. She paused, the hairs rising on the back of her neck, her skin tingling. She looked up; it was a clear night and the stars were out.

"I know you're there," she said softly. She could feel him, in the air, somehow. Loki was all around her. "I know it," she added.

But she was met with no more response than the howling of the wind.

Hermione, hiding her wand in her jacket, looked to the patch of darkness in the trees and uttered the incantation under her breath.

_There._

Now, if the spell worked...she could trace Loki.

* * *

Loki hungrily watched the girl walk away, watched her slight but feminine form turn and dissipate into the night.

He hurt, inside and out. Weakly he too disappeared, late reappearing in his hideout not too far from there, in a cave by the Atlantic. Mjolnir had weakened him and he crumpled to his knees before managing to brace himself. His staff and helmet were positioned in the corner; he had acquired some hay for bedding and a few blankets, and his small stash of food and water were hidden beneath his helmet.

_The great Loki Laufeyson, __reduced to this... _he was piteous; pathetic. Filled with self-hate, Loki slumped down onto his mat, shivering, and grappled for his staff before setting a small pile of twigs alight. The flames danced upon the cavern walls, and his shivering abated slightly. He pulled the blanket closer round his form.

Everything hurt, inside and out, and now, he was truly alone. He had lost all possible allies in the world. _Alone again._ Funny how often he found himself observing this — and yet, all those times, it had never been completely true, had it? For the first time, it was true, however. He had alienated himself further than anything else ever had, and now he was alone in the universe.

The most recent point of comfort had been when he had been held captive by SHIELD most recently — when he had met Dr. Granger.

Now, hiding in this cave, too weak for much else, his mind fed him silly, delirious thoughts about her. He knew he must have imagined the understanding in her brown eyes; he had imagined her empathy for him. Yet what a lovely lie it was, and he clung to it. In a world where everything he touched seemed to turn to ash, Loki was afraid to hold on to much at all. False illusions were the safest things; it was better to cling without hope.

She had understood him, though, and her tactics were different from the others — gentler. She was not treating him like a wild beast; she was treating him like a man in pain. That last point of contact, when she had been pressing him down in the throne room, flashed in his mind. For one perfect moment, he had felt such unity with her; he had felt as though she had opened up his heart and were baring the contents.

But it had been too painful, and he'd pushed her away. Pain, pain, pain. All Loki knew was pain; it was what defined him. Yet for that blissful moment, he had known soft, warm, kindness — the kindness of a stranger was so much more comforting. Strangers didn't know him, they couldn't also sympathize with Thor, Frigga, or Odin.

Yet she must have known; Thor and SHIELD must have told her everything. Even so, she had looked upon him with such empathy; she had stayed so strong in the face of his pain and anger. Inside that soft little body was a beating heart and a bounding brain and somehow, that added up to Dr. Granger — the magic trick he could not understand.


	4. Chapter 4

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: This chapter is especially action-packed, and as a result, may seem a bit abrupt. Mostly, I just want to get to the good stuff with this story XD Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: **Suna Babe, MsDragonLady, biankie88, everlastingtrueromance, ShadowCrawlerCiel, DocteureCrane, Amahlia, moor, Lady Miya, NorthernLights25, Mariico, LazyKiss, MeriLynelle, BlackShirt16, liljennmartin, Lorem tenebrae, Cihsegin, Eternally Free, ShimmeringWater, UnattainableDarkAngel, Raychaell Dionzeros, Shan84, inked quill, patricia pc, and marana1.**

My dog passed on this week so seeing these wonderful and helpful reviews really made me feel good, guys. So cheers :)

Also, **the wonderfully talented Mariico made an amazing banner for this story**. FFnet seems to destroy links, so I will just tell you all to go to her twitter (mariico_97) or tumblr (mariico) and check it out. It is really amazing, as with all of her work. (I also encourage you to check out her writing; she writes Tomione which is quite a similar ship)

Please review!

Disclaimer: the HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Four.**

* * *

"So, did you sever things with the fiancee?" Tony asked abruptly at breakfast the next day. Hermione's fork clattered to her plate as Natasha made a hissing noise, rather like a cat.

"Way to be a gent, Stark," she snarked. She turned to Hermione. "Ignore him. Just because he's a bajillionaire doesn't mean he's got brains worth shit."

"Oh, very charming, Romanoff," Tony retorted, though she could see that they were both only partially serious and were enjoying being snarky. She offered them a weak smile. "Well? Did you?" he prompted.

"Sort of," she sighed, digging around her plate. "I ended up telling him vaguely that I couldn't be around for a while due to the job, and that if we maintained contact, it might hurt him in the end."

"Whatever. He can just grow the fuck up or go fuck himself," Natasha said airily. "The thing you need to focus on is how you can best use the rest of us for this. We don't want this Loki shit dragging on too long."

"You really have a way with words, Romanoff," said Clint with a smirk. The look Natasha sent him was amusement with an underlying hint of sexual tension. Hermione raised questioning eyebrows at Tony and Jane, who both nodded discretely. _Ah. So they are together._

"So have you put that tracking spell thing on him?" Natasha asked abruptly; Clint looked away hastily. Hermione shook her head — she didn't want to let on that she suspected she had seen Loki.

"I don't even know if it will work yet, and obviously, I haven't even seen him." She shrugged now. "The best I can do for now is test it on Thor."

Just then, Dr. Banner joined them, in his rumpled grey pajamas as usual. His plate was piled high with odd combinations of foods: kippers with syrup, fruit with ketchup. He was looking frazzled and didn't appear to have any awareness of the fact that everyone was watching him.

"Morning, Banner," Tony greeted, smirking. "Hungry?"

"Always," said Dr. Banner fervently. He looked up and brightened when he saw Hermione. "Ah, good to see you, Dr. Granger," he greeted amiably. Hermione waved slightly.

"We were just talking about how Dr. Granger can test if her tracking spell will work on Loki," explained Tony. Dr. Banner frowned in thought.

"Why not have Thor take you to Asgard and test it on his mother? She's got very similar magic to Loki, from what I hear."

"Thanks — that's a great idea."

Hermione excused herself and dumped her tray before hurrying back to her room. Last night she had checked the parchment where she had Charmed Loki's position to appear, but it had remained stubbornly blank. Now, checking it again, it still was blank. _But how is that possible? It's not like it only works on humans!_

She was at a loss. Hermione collapsed onto her bed, arms outstretched, staring at the ceiling. She knew there was a solution to this problem — after all, there was a solution to _every_ problem — but it was infuriating to her, how long it was taking her to reach it. Unbidden her thoughts returned to Ron and, cringing, she rolled over onto her side, facing the wall, and wishing she could develop a potion or a spell to make all of this heartache go away. It was making it impossible to do work, and all she wanted to do was lose herself in this project.

"Granger, open up," Natasha's smoky, sultry voice sounded through the door. Hermione sat up, frowning, and went to the door to open it. Natasha was leaning against the door frame, examining impeccably polished dark red nails.

"Yes?" Hermione asked hesitantly. Natasha shot her a grin.

"No offense, or anything, but sometimes only brute force works on gods..." Natasha's eyes roved over Hermione, "and you really don't look like you've got too much brute force in you." She held up her hands. "Again, no offense meant. But I was thinking I could try to help train you and in the meantime, give you what I know about Loki."

Hermione blinked in surprise.

"Actually, that would be great. I'm in terrible shape, and I could really use another perspective on him."

"Alright — get changed and we'll go to the training facility."

"R-right now?" Hermione balked.

Natasha arched a penciled brow.

"Yes, right now, Granger," she said wryly, and shut the door for Hermione.

Still feeling a bit shocked, Hermione mechanically changed into an older cotton jumper and trainers. She hadn't brought any sort of workout clothes, obviously — in fact, she was not entirely sure she even owned a sports bra anymore. When she opened the door again, Natasha looked bemused.

"I didn't bring anything else," Hermione pointed out with a shrug. Natasha's mouth quirked in thought, and she made a _tsk_ing noise.

"It'll do for now. It's not like you'll be climbing Everest or sparring with Steve any time soon, anyway. Come on."

With a wave of her hand, Natasha turned on her heel and Hermione hastened to lock her door and trot after Natasha, who was sashaying, her heeled boots clacking loudly on the floor.

"I really appreciate this, Natasha," said Hermione eagerly, desperate to make conversation. Natasha shrugged.

"No problem — Fury told me you were someone worth respecting, and from what I hear, it sounds like he wasn't kidding. It's an honor that you joined us."

They reached the training facility, though Hermione was overcome with tears of gratitude and had to discretely slip off to the loo for a tissue. When she returned, she was able to take in the immensity of the facility. Punching bags lined one wall in front of a mirror and a large area was dedicated to some sort of series of weight-lifting machines, as well as free weights. Steve was in the corner with one of the punching bags, and the room echoed with the sound of his gloved fists hitting the leather. Hermione blushed a bit; he was shirtless and gleaming with sweat, and entirely oblivious to her and Natasha.

"So, what's first?" Hermione asked, feeling intimidated already. Physical exercise and sports had never been her strong point, and her stomach was already clenching with the familiar fear that she'd always had in school, before Hogwarts: being picked last for teams, being laughed at when she couldn't catch the ball...

"Basic self-defense. Loki may be a god, but he's still got nerve endings just like the rest of us." Natasha shrugged off her stylish leather jacket and flung it onto a pile of mats, and led Hermione to the centre of a sparring ring; the floor was covered with mats as well. Natasha also kicked off her boots and rolled her shoulders. Feeling insecure, Hermione also kicked off her trainers, revealing mismatched socks with holes in the toes. "And, being a woman, you really should know some basic tricks, at any rate," she added as an afterthought.

For hours, they worked on what Natasha referred to as 'basic self defense' but what Hermione was nearly positive she had only seen in kung fu movies with special effects. Natasha looked curvaceous and feminine, but when push came to shove, she was no fairy princess. She moved _fast,_ and in the blink of an eye, could do all sorts of damage. By the end of it, Hermione was shaking, bruised, and drenched in perspiration. She had never felt so physically weak in her life.

By contrast, Natasha had barely broken a sweat.

"That's enough for today," Natasha finally said, helping Hermione off the floor. Trembling, Hermione accepted the help and was pulled to her feet unsteadily. In the corner, Steve was still going strong.

"Doesn't he get tired?" Hermione panted, gesturing to Steve whilst she braced herself with one hand on her knees. She wasn't sure if she had to use the loo or throw up — possibly both, at the same time. Even beyond the nausea and gastrointestinal trouble was a gnawing, dizzying hunger and thirst. Natasha snorted.

"Oh, that's because of the drug that made him so buff. If he doesn't get enough exercise every day, he goes nuts. Kind of like a labrador or something."

The two women left the training facility with Hermione, to her personal humiliation, leaving sweaty footprints along the floor, as she had not yet bothered to put on her shoes. "You may be in crap shape, but you're still not bad — you can think on your feet," said Natasha thoughtfully as they entered the cafeteria. Hermione was beyond the point of caring if people saw her looking so disgusting. Fortunately, almost no one was there, as it was well past lunch.

"But I'm so uncoordinated," she replied, reaching for a bag of crisps. Natasha slapped her hand away.

"That's like putting sugar in your engine!"

"Huh?" Hermione asked, blinking sweat out of her eyes. All she wanted right now was hot tea and crisps and a good book. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"You need protein after a workout like that. Anyway," she continued as Hermione grudgingly went for the protein salad, "it doesn't matter if you're not coordinated. To be honest, I can't catch a ball to save my life. As long as you're strong enough and willful enough, you can fight your way out of pretty much any situation."

"That's comforting," sighed Hermione. They sat down at a table in the corner. "So what have your experiences with Loki been like?"

"Right down to business. I like it," she remarked, spearing a piece of broccoli. "Meh. He can definitely be manipulated — he's not as invincible as the others make him out to be. But actually, I think you're onto something, with the whole not fighting fire with fire thing. I honestly don't think we could beat Loki with force."

"Why's that?" Hermione was so intrigued she was able to forget how exhausted she was for a moment. Natasha frowned as she chewed.

"The late Agent Coulson had a good point about Loki. He said Loki lacked conviction, and that was why he could be defeated. In a way, I agree. Loki is just this wild force, thrashing around. Deep down, I think he's just confused and misses his brother and family — not that that is an excuse, but more like a reason." She paused, a far-off look in her flinty eyes. "I think if we could convince Loki to become our ally, it would be more effective than making him our enemy."

"It sounds like you've got a lot of experience with this type of thing," remarked Hermione, careful to keep her voice level. Natasha's lips twisted.

"There are always men like Loki — dramatic, charismatic, attention-seeking, but powerful men." She grinned down at her plate. "Just further evidence that women are superior."

The two women sniggered and enjoyed lunch together. Natasha filled Hermione in more on the Avengers' previous encounters with the god of mischief, and as they were parting, they agreed to meet the next day for another round of training.

With all of this business, Hermione had almost forgotten completely about Ron. In returning back to her room, however, the grief and confusion came rushing back. _Just don't think about it, _she told herself. She remembered Natasha's words at breakfast. _He can just grow the fuck up or go fuck himself,_ Natasha's voice echoed in her mind. Hermione's lips twisted into a wry grin. This sort of solidarity was the thing she'd always missed, with her not having had too many normal female friends during her adolescence.

And after all, Natasha was right. This was her life, and if Ron couldn't accept that he was a part of her life and not the whole picture...well, then, he certainly did have some growing up to do. _He should accept and appreciate me for how devoted I am to my work,_ she thought with irritation. Really, was that so much to ask? Sometimes, she thought that it wasn't that her relationship with Ron was _actually_ inherently different from Harry and Ginny's relationship — more like, it was a consequence of her treating it differently. Harry and Ginny had always put their work before each other, and it had never been up for debate. Perhaps by virtue of treating it as a given, that was how one _made_ it a given. And, perhaps, by always being party to Ron's demands, she had enabled him far too much.

_I really need relationship help,_ Hermione thought with a sigh. She showered and was surprised to find how much better the training session had made her feel. She felt centred; she felt at peace. She closed her eyes and recalled her conversation with Natasha. _I think if we could convince Loki to become our ally, it would be more effective than making him our enemy. _

There had been a gleam in Natasha's eyes that had set off warning bells in Hermione's mind. Natasha seemed to do and say everything with innate confidence, but there had been a _knowingness_ in her eyes when she had said that that made Hermione suspicious.

_She must know something._ But who could they make Loki an ally against? ...Of course, with nine realms, the earth was obviously always in danger. Hermione leaned her forehead against the tile. Loki had gone to another realm before, the last time, to find allies, according to Natasha. _And it didn't work out so well for him,_ she reflected with a snigger. Then she felt cold as her blood seemed to turn to ice, and her eyes shot open.

What if Loki had pissed off the residents of yet another one of the realms, in his quest for allies against Earth and Asgard?

"Merlin's pants," she groaned, banging her head against the tile and then instantly regretting it as pain radiated through her head. She rubbed furiously at the spot as she thought. If Loki _had_ pissed off another people, he would be clever enough to deflect their rage and turn it to either Asgard or Earth...and, obviously, it was less potentially dangerous to mess with Earth than Asgard...And obviously, this meant they were sitting ducks.

To put it in Natasha's wording: _fuck._

Hermione hurriedly finished her shower and dressed. _That explains why he didn't show up on the parchment. _Because if Loki really had gone to another realm, then of course her tracking spell wouldn't work. What if that were the case? What if Fury knew — and Natasha had somehow found out — and was keeping it from them? ...Or, what if Natasha was double-crossing them and was feeling too smug to truly keep it to herself? Or what if this was all complete guesswork, and Loki was still lurking somewhere nearby and her tracking spell had simply failed?

She had to find out.

Hermione flung her door shut, not bothering to lock it, and then skidded on the tile as she changed her mind and ran back to lock it. She whirled back around and began sprinting, against the whim of her exhausted muscles. She rounded a corner and slammed directly into the very hard chest of Steve, who was accompanied by Agent Hill.

She flew back onto her arse from the impact, but was too panicked to take the time to groan in pain.

"Dr. Granger! You're certainly in a hurry — where are you —"

"No time, Captain America!" she cried, scrambling ungracefully to her feet and preparing to bolt again. Agent Hill simply reached her arm out, barring Hermione from passing.

"What is going on, Dr. Granger? Report," she demanded, leaving no room for disobedience in her voice. Hermione slumped in defeat and pushed at her hair.

"What are the chances that the Frost giants aren't the only realm that Loki's pissed off?" she asked weakly, her eyes searching Agent Hill's. Agent Hill said nothing, went pale as a ghost. Steve rounded on her.

"Why aren't you answering, Agent Hill?" For the first time, Hermione could appreciate that Steve was more than just a sweet-natured buff bloke in a spandex suit. His green eyes were fierce, his square jaw set in determined fury. The veins in his neck were visibly pulsing. Agent Hill licked her lips.

"I don't know anything," she finally began in a somewhat shaken voice, "but I have my suspicions... How did you come to this possibility?"

Hermione looked around in suspicion, before waving her wand. _Muffliato. _Steve and Agent Hill both looked around in surprise at the sudden subtle buzzing sound.

"For privacy," she explained in a lowered voice. Steve and Maria both stepped closer. "I was talking to Na- to Romanoff today, and she suggested that she agreed we ought to befriend — well, not befriend Loki, really, so much as align with him — instead of turn Loki into our enemy. And there was just something in her eyes when she said it..." Hermione trailed off, rubbing at her hair. Steve worked his jaw.

"There's no way Natasha knows something and isn't sharing it with us," declared Steve finally, shaking his head. "She's on our side, no matter how untrustworthy she may seem."

"Alright, Miss Congeniality," Agent Hill muttered under her breath. Hermione choked in surprise at Agent Hill's uncharacteristic glibness as Steve's eyes widened.

"You don't gain anything from being suspicious of everyone, Agent Hill," he said coldly. Agent Hill shrugged.

"I investigate all possibilities before I draw any conclusions, Captain. It is in my nature — and it's my job." Her eyes hardened. "Do you think Romanoff is a traitor, Dr. Granger?"

Hermione didn't speak right away. She had learned during the war to trust her instincts — but with some caveats. Sometimes, people could surprise you; however, oftentimes, your gut feeling was right.

"No, I don't think so. At least, I doubt it," she finally said. Steve sighed.

"See? If Dr. Granger thinks so too, we must be right." He frowned now, looking anxious. "But if Natasha isn't a traitor...then..."

"Leave it to me," said Hermione. Legilimency against one's will was only illegal in the Wizarding world...and only illegal if anyone found out about it. "I've got to have a meeting with Fury." She pushed past Agent Hill and Steve, who were looking over their shoulders at her in worry.

"If we can help, let us know," called Steve, but Hermione was already rounding the corner.

* * *

When Hermione reached the conference room, it was locked, but that was easily solved with a wave of her wand. The door flew open, revealing Fury and Thor. The two men turned in surprise to face her; Thor was garbed in his royal clothing and crown, and he looked more like a king than ever. Hermione slammed the door shut. _Petrificus Totalus__, _she thought, making eye-contact with Fury. _Legilimens._

"Lady Granger, what in the name of Mjolnir are you doi—"

"Not now, Thor," Hermione interrupted, holding up her hand. Fury's eyes darted back and forth in his head as he began to tilt backwards, as he was petrified; Hermione stopped him with a wave of her wand.

She probed and probed. She could tell that Fury had some inkling of what was happening to him, but as he was a Muggle, he had no way of stopping it.

And there it was — apparently, Thor had just told Fury that he had received word that Asgard was under threat from another realm. _Finite Incantatem._

"What the _hell_ was that, Granger," Fury demanded when he had been released; Hermione did not miss the fact that he had dropped the 'Dr' as he was clearly enraged at her.

"I had to check something," she said briskly. She turned to Thor. "Which realm? Where is Loki?" she asked without preface. Thor's jaw tightened.

"Svartalfheim," he said gravely, his blue-grey eyes flashing dangerously. "And I fear he will not receive kindness from them."

"Do you think he knows it? I mean, do you think he's doing it on purpose?" Her throat was doing a funny tightening that was making it difficult to breathe. She knew, obviously, that Svartalfheim was one of the nine realms, and she could recall reading in her books about it...And if her memory served her well, it was either the realm of the Demons, or the realm of the Dark Elves. She found that she couldn't quite warm to either option.

"That was what I was wondering, Dr. Granger, before you bewitched me," said Fury coldly. "What is it about magical beings, that you don't think twice about exercising your own power over others? You acted a lot like Loki just now."

Hermione set her hands on her hips.

"There is plenty of reason to not trust you one hundred percent, Fury," she retorted. "In case you haven't noticed, we are about to go to war — yet again. There is no time for me to pander to you. We have to stop Loki."

Still, her heart was pounding at what Fury had said, and she turned back to Thor hastily, not wanting to dwell on that thought. It wasn't the first time someone had remarked on her ability to think like a Dark wizard (or, in this case, Dark god.).

"Who knows what my brother is thinking?" Thor wondered. He looked heartbroken for one moment, and then, mastered himself quickly. "The Svartalfheimians are enemies of Midgard, but they are enemies of Asgard as well. If Loki tries to bargain with them, it will not turn out well for him. He may be part Jotun, but everyone knows him as a god of Asgard."

Hermione grabbed the nearest chair and sank into it. _  
_

"Will we become allies with him?"

"We are _not_ allying ourselves with Loki, Dr. Granger. I don't know if you heard, but he tried to _destroy Earth.__"_

"Yes, and now we have a common enemy. If we can align with Loki, we can perhaps avoid future destruction while saving ourselves from the Svartalfheimians in the meantime," Hermione replied. Thor nodded.

"Lady Granger is right — and this is what I and my advisors came up with as well. It is the best plan, Fury. It's a risk worth taking."

Fury was seething, and he turned away, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I just can't get past the idea of allying with a man we tried to kill and have been pouring valuable resources into imprisoning," he said through grit teeth. Hermione frowned as Fury rounded on her. "And how did you know about this, anyway? How the hell did you know to come here, now?"

Hermione worked her jaw as she tried to come up with an appropriate explanation. Finally, she let out a sigh.

"Last night, I sensed that Loki was nearby — that he was following me. I knew it wasn't worth it to engage, so I nonverbally cast a tracking spell. It should have revealed his location to me on a bit of parchment that I Charmed — and it would do that for anything, even non-human beings. But the parchment has been blank." Hermione met Fury's eyes. "And I was discussing what happened last time Loki tried to gain power here with Agent Romanoff, and she told me he had allied himself with another realm. I thought there was a chance he might do that again. From there...it was just a bit of guesswork."

Fury was silent for several moments.

"Let me get this straight: you thought you saw Loki, and instead of _telling any of us, _you cast some magic spell and walked away?" He ran his hand over his bald head, apparently overcome. "You don't even know if you did see Loki. This is literally the stupidest —"

"With all due respect, Fury, that does not matter anymore. The point is that Lady Granger was right, and we have a plan. The Asgardians will try to ally with Loki against the Svartalfheims; I suggest you do the same," said Thor gravely. Fury began pacing.

"Don't act yet — I need to have a meeting with the rest of SHIELD," he finally said.

* * *

After several hours of futile arguing, Hermione found herself following Thor to the teleportation room: the room that had been set up for Thor to travel between realms safely.

She was going to Asgard, and, probably, to Svartalfheim.

"Thank you for coming with me, Lady Granger," said Thor as he led her onto the teleportation dais. Hermione shrugged; she was still feeling a bit peaky at the idea of traveling between realms again — and at the prospect of seeing Loki again. She didn't know how to feel, she was in utter turmoil.

"No problem," she said with a dry mouth, though the phrase was absurd in its nonchalance, given everything that was happening. Thor set his hand on her shoulder, and again Hermione felt the peculiar experience of everything fading, as she was transported, particle by particle, to another realm.

They reappeared in the throne room, and the deja vu was startling. Frigga, in her long white robes and her long golden hair, was pacing in front of one of the windows frantically. When she caught sight of Thor and Hermione, she ran towards them to throw her arms around Thor.

"Mother, I'm sorry," said Thor softly, holding her close. He released her, and turned to Hermione. "We are to meet Loki on the bridge between realms now. Come, Lady Granger."

They left Frigga there, by herself, in the throne room, as Thor led Hermione outside of the palace and down along a long, raised road, that glimmered in different colors. It was like solidified rainbow, and was one of the loveliest things Hermione had ever seen. She focused on it, to take her mind off of the thing she was about to do.

The road ended too soon; they were at the bifrost bridge. When they entered the hemispheric shape, they were locked inside.

And then, slowly, Loki materialized before them, bearing his long cloak, his staff, and his gleaming horned helmet. Standing on the raised platform above them, he looked the part of a god, and a fearsome one at that. When he had fully materialized before them, his eyes alighted on Hermione, and a smirk curved his pretty lips.

"Dr. Granger — long time no see," he greeted in a silky voice, his eyebrows flicking upward slightly in recognition. Hermione made a show of rolling her eyes, to hide just how scared she was at the moment.

"Really? I was under the impression we ran into each other yesterday," she said coolly. Loki's eyes flashed, but he remained amused.

"Ah yes. I suppose that was after you ended things with that pathetic man to whom you were betrothed."

"Enough, brother. We have come here to discuss business," interrupted Thor imperiously. Loki scoffed and leisurely, elegantly, stepped down off the dais, his armor clinking and his cloak swirling about him with the movement. He was close enough now for Hermione to touch him.

"Business, eh? You really had the audacity to think you could bargain with me?"

"Actually, it's the other way round, Loki — you are going to have to bargain with us to get you out of trouble with the Svartalfs," Hermione pointed out. "If you align yourself with us, you are more likely to survive, but in exchange, you must end your quest for power. You will not be imprisoned or persecuted as long as you live peacefully, without harming either Asgard or Earth." She paused for effect, her eyes meeting Loki's. His flicked downward, roving over her, and she felt her cheeks grow warm as that odd clenching in the pit of her abdomen happened. It flustered her — she did not want to be so affected by Loki. "If you choose to not become our ally, then you are our enemy, and you are the enemy of the Svartalfs as well. You must know that by now."

Loki stepped backward, holding up his hands.

"So far, being the enemy of Midgard does not seem to have caused me too much trouble, Dr. Granger," he remarked. Hermione snorted.

"Who was it who just had to flee in pain from Mjolnir the other day? Hmm, can't recall," she said flatly. Loki's eyes hardened. In a flash, he was centimetres from her, so close she could feel his breath on her face, his cool, strong hand gripping her chin, his eyes before hers, his lips...so close to hers. Her brain was telling her to put some of Natasha's tricks to use, but her body was telling her something entirely different. Hermione grappled for her wand as Loki drew closer.

"Do not speak of things you cannot—"

"Step away from her, brother." Thor raised Mjolnir now. "Or I will rescind our generous offer."

Loki's fingers tightened on her jaw before, tantalizingly slowly, he released her, his fingertips brushing her skin. Hermione's heart was pounding in her ears as he stepped away, finally. "This is your last chance, Loki."

For one agonizing moment, the two brothers' eyes met, and there again Hermione found that same camaraderie that they had lost, that same private shared mischief that had made them truly brothers. Then it was gone.

Loki's eyes cast back to Hermione, then once more, back to Thor.

"I accept."


	5. Chapter 5

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Notes: I do have one small note — after doing further research, I see we are meant to call them 'Svartalfs' and not 'Svartalfheimians.' I will go back and fix this mistake in the previous chapters, but from now on, they are the Svartalfs.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: **eltseth, Kirtash R, Dreamless-Sleep777, UnattainableDarkAngel, ShimmeringWater, wingedmercury, booklove44, MeriLynelle, Hermitt, Shan84, Lady Miya, mh21, biankie88, DocteureCrane, Lorem tenebrae, Nerys, Guest, none654321, moor, Mariico, Eternally Free, Raychaell Dionzeros, BlackShirt16, musicalwritergurl, patricia pc, marana1, and NorthernLights25.**

Please review!

Disclaimer: The HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Five.**

* * *

Hermione's heart was beating a steady tattoo against her throat. She was waiting for some ability to pick out an emotion from all of the ones coursing through her, but thus far all she could determine was overwhelming shock. _He accepts...just like that? _

This couldn't be good.

Loki's voice had been like a caress. Now, when he tilted his head to look back at her, the look in his tumultuous eyes was just as silvery and subtle as his voice had been. She drew in a sharp breath, as though anticipating a blow, but he merely flicked his gaze over her. She didn't want to try and interpret the look in his eyes, so she steeled her will and mastered her emotions.

"Then you must come back with us now, Loki, and you must consent to living by _our_ rules," said Hermione, when she had found her voice. Loki arched an elegant brow at her, and when he turned to her, his helmet caught the light again. And again, she was overcome with that clench of both fear and desire: at this moment, Loki's power seemed to fill the hemisphere and arch out beyond them; it was like static electricity, crackling in the air at her every contact and raising the soft downy hairs on the back of her neck.

A slow smirk curved his pretty lips, and the look he gave her was, undoubtedly, private and inviting.

"Excited to live under the same roof with me, Dr. Granger?" His velvety voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes — it means I will be able to help you stick to the rules," she replied flatly, pushing down the desire and those deep, dark, inviting thoughts that were creeping into her mind like shadowy, thorned vines. "You're wanted for attempted mass murder, Loki. Humans do not take that lightly. You are getting quite a good deal here, especially considering you don't have too many options left."

Loki started towards her.

"Lucky for my _dear _brother that he found someone so clever as you to do his work for him," he remarked softly, studying her face carefully. "You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Granger, but as it still stands, I do accept."

Hermione brandished her wand before conjuring handcuffs.

"You'll need to wear these," she replied, holding them up demonstratively. Loki winked gamely at her.

"I knew you fantasized about this." Still, he allowed her to magically attach them to his wrists, after Thor had relieved him of his precious staff. Hermione's mouth had gone dry; in stark contrast, her palms could not be wetter with perspiration. As the cuffs closed around Loki's wrists, he held her gaze. Neither looked away.

"I know those cannot actually hold you, Loki," she began, as Thor prepared to teleport them back to Earth, "but try to play along for now so you don't scare the others."

As everything was once again fading around them, Hermione was hit with such a strong sense of foreboding. Loki was disappearing, particle by particle, before her eyes, but the look in those peculiar depths — so undecipherable — was burned into her mind's eye forever.

* * *

When they next reappeared, it was in the teleportation room at the compound. They were welcomed by Fury, Agent Hill, and the Avengers. Hermione had never seen them all looking so stern and grim.

"So. The prodigal son returns," greeted Fury, his voice barely gentler than a bark. The animosity in his expression was scalding, and for the first time, Hermione could appreciate just how loyal Fury was to his fellow humans, and just how protective he was of them. Behind her, she heard Loki's soft chuckle, and felt his breath ghost across the back of her neck. Hastily, she stepped off the teleportation pad, and away from Loki.

"And does that make you the welcoming father?" Loki's voice was so subtly filled with mirth that he was practically purring. He leisurely stepped off the pad, towards Fury, and several things happened in the blink of an eye: Thor reached out to grasp at his brother, Captain America lunged in front of Fury, bearing his infamous shield, Natasha and Hawkeye both drew their guns, and Hermione found herself pointing her wand at Loki, digging it into his cheek. Loki held up his hands.

"Remember — you play by _our_ rules, brat," snarked Tony. Fury shot both Hermione and Thor a look nearly as scalding as the one he had given Loki.

"You had better pray that I don't regret this," he said to them both.

* * *

In the short time that Thor and Hermione had been gone, Loki's former prison had been turned into something vaguely resembling a room: there was a small bed, an enclosed toilet and shower, and a small closet containing dark, plain, utilitarian clothing. The room was, of course, maximum security, but that obviously meant nothing to Loki. He was just playing along, now, and he would only stick around for as long as he saw fit.

Hermione slumped back to the conference room for a meeting with the rest of the Avengers. Thor was supposed to explain what they had learned from Loki, and what the Svartalfs were and what they were capable of, to the rest of the Avengers. While Hermione was indeed curious about the Svartalfs, she was also exhausted. Still, what could she do? She had signed on to this herself, and she would have to see it through to the very end...

...Whatever that end might be.

"The Svartalfs are dark elves. They are, like Loki, quite clever. But Loki has angered them before and they are currently very antagonistic towards both Midgard and Asgard. They are not good enemies to have," Thor was saying as Hermione entered.

"Okay, so how do we de-enemize them?" Tony asked. Hermione met Natasha's eyes at his wording and they shared a small smirk before Hermione took a spot along the wall. She noticed Thor was looking beyond weary, and again her heart went out to him. After all, he had just had to capture his own brother, and was now facing yet another possible inter-realm war.

"I can attempt to sign a peace treaty — beyond that, I have no plans," said Thor finally, holding up his large hands in something akin to surrender. "I will go there with my advisors tomorrow to negotiate. For now, I must return to Asgard to begin planning."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" Steve wondered haplessly. Thor's expression was grim.

"Try to keep Loki here and out of trouble," he suggested with a shrug, and then he pushed past everyone and left.

For several beats, the conference room was silent. Hermione straightened.

"I suppose I can try to talk to Loki," she offered, but she was met with indifferent shrugs. No one seemed to know what to do with themselves. She left the conference room feeling frazzled and directionless. They had no specific plan against the Svartalfs, and in the meantime, having Loki here in the compound was more of a threat than a safety measure. Again the feeling of insecurity returned — of the sense that nowhere was safe; that nothing was secure. Hermione despised standing on uncertain ground and this was like trying to balance oneself on shifting, cracking, melting ice. Every time you thought you had found a safe spot, a new fissure would form.

_He's still less threatening than Voldemort,_ she reminded herself vehemently as she approached Loki's confines. Her footsteps slowed as she reached the first hydraulics-powered door, and she stared at the metal. _I can do this. This is nothing. I'm not scared of Loki._

Unfortunately, thinking something did not necessarily suddenly render it true. She was scared of Loki, and she knew deep down that she was scared of him for the wrong reasons. Voldemort had been terrifying because he killed mercilessly and wanted to use his power to control helpless beings. Loki was scary because he was so relatable, so intriguing, and so likable...yet so brutal and so unpredictable. He was a wild and reckless force, and stopping him would be like trying to put a dam in the ocean. Stopping Voldemort, while quite difficult, had been a focused effort: Voldemort worked in specific and focused ways; he was the epitome of self-control. Loki's wildness was fearsome.

_You have given up Ron for this. You have given up your whole life, Hermione. You can't back down now just because you're scared,_ she told herself, drawing in deep, soothing breaths. She pressed her fingertips to the pad. She was now drawing on something she had learned in being best friends with Harry: sometimes, being scared had to not matter. Sometimes, you had to do the tough things anyway.

The doors slid open with that peculiar, machinate _hiss_, and then slid shut behind her rapidly, boxing her in.

The last door between her and Loki stood before her now, and Hermione went to it. A small camera had been inset next to the release scanner pad, and Hermione could observe Loki lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, masked in partial darkness. He had been forced to change into the plain, dark, utilitarian clothes that SHIELD had provided. His real clothes — along with his helmet and staff — lay in some unknown, secure location. Hermione licked her lips, wiped her sweaty palms on her denims, and opened the door.

Loki did not move when the doors opened; even when they slammed shut again, he seemed unaware of her presence, though she knew that was not true. If anything, Loki was hypersensitive to his surroundings. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Yes, I do see you there, Dr. Granger." She could hear the wry smirk in his voice. "With all of these clever, complex doors, one cannot quite sneak up on me."

Hermione stepped forward, fidgeting with the hem of her jumper. She wished that the lights would come on, but then, she supposed, it was easier this way. Sometimes the darkness felt safer. Perhaps if those harsh halogen lights had been on both of them, it might have felt more like what it truly was: an interrogation.

It was easy to pretend, however, that it wasn't. Maybe this was because she wanted to pretend. Hermione drew up a chair; it was of the same futuristic, minimalistic design that seemed prevalent in Scandinavian countries. Its legs scraped shrilly on the floor, like nails on a chalkboard. She missed the cosy, antique, worn décor of Britain, and she missed her cosy flat as well. The impersonal and cold nature of this compound was difficult to warm to.

"How are you feeling?" she finally blurted out, her face flushing with the stupidity of the question. She sat down gingerly a few metres from Loki's bed, observing his noble and clever profile. In those plain clothes, even with his hair mussed, he still seemed more regal than most men, and Hermione wondered how he managed it. "I mean, you must be tired."

"Projecting your own feelings on to me, Dr. Granger?" Loki's face tilted towards her and he sat up slightly, the bed springs creaking beneath his form. Beneath the dim light, his shadowed features were more pronounced and cast in high relief. His eyes seemed to gleam like jewels through a veil of shadow. "Because you seem quite fatigued yourself."

"I am," she replied honestly, not breaking the eye contact. "You know, Natasha Romanoff has been training me in martial arts, and it's exhausting. I've always been one for books, really."

Loki's gaze was heavy on her. Hermione fought against the overpowering urge to look away, to fidget, to give away her own anxiety. She wanted to seem at ease, so Loki would open up to her. She wanted to see who Loki was without all of the mystique, all of the theatrics, all of the drama. She wanted to see the boy that Frigga had cherished and the man that Thor had admired. She wanted to see the soul that could create pure amber out of a water glass. This was not for the mission, no — it was a personal hunger which she possessed. "What about you?"

Loki's lips curved.

"You seem so defensive," he remarked instead. He settled his feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed, and balanced his elbows on his knees, leaning forward towards her. She was gripped with the urge to lean back, away from him; he was so predatory. Instead she mimicked his posture, leaning forward as well. "Got something to prove to me?"

"I suppose I do. Not just you, but to everyone," she admitted casually. Loki's eyebrow twitched; he was surprised at her honesty. "I was always the ugly, swotty bookworm in school. I almost never got to feel powerful or feminine or popular. I was completely locked into this role of being a goody-two-shoes know-it-all. Now that I'm out of school, I suppose I've been trying to break out of that mold."

She paused, waiting for Loki to respond. When he didn't, she continued, "After the war, I grew famous because I had helped my best friend, Harry, defeat Voldemort. I gained international recognition for what I did. It was the first time I had gotten to feel like I was really worth more than just my good marks. It's an addicting feeling."

Loki scoffed.

"And now you wish to continue that streak by being the first person to successfully imprison the evil Loki, God of Mischief," he added softly. Hermione's lips curved into a grin.

"Well, it would look good on my resume," she admitted with a snigger. Loki's eyes glimmered with something. "But actually, right now I would rather help SHIELD save earth from the Svartalfs." She drew in a breath now. "And you could help me with that. More than the others can, anyway."

Loki cocked his head to the side.

"Why should I?"

"The same reasons I'm doing it — because I love being the best one; I love knowing I'm superior." She paused. "You could do what we both know your brother cannot do, Loki. Together, I know we could save both Earth and Asgard. We are both so much more than SHIELD and Thor and all of his advisors."

"And now you attempt to appeal to my ego," he drawled. "Dr. Granger, your methods are so very transparent. Perhaps you ought to stick to books after all."

"Loki, I have no 'methods,'" she snapped now. "Both Asgard and Midgard are in a crisis right now and together, we could avert it. I'm not trying to appeal to you in some way — I'm trying to get things done." She leaned closer, thinking of the few times she had seen Harry interrogate his captives. Harry's honesty was something that always seemed to shine through; his directness and straightforwardness was the key to unlocking his enemies. She employed that now. "You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If you don't take this opportunity, you're not half as clever as everyone makes you out to be."

She rose from her chair now; she felt Loki's eyes follow her as surely as if he had placed a guiding hand at the small of her back. "I suggest you make a decision quickly, Loki. As I said before, this is a crisis, and I'm not going to waste my time trying to play you."

At that, she left. And though she had been walking tall and confidently, inside she was a mess.

Finally, it was her turn to go to bed. Hermione slinked back to her room, ears straining for any sign of noise in case someone headed her off. She knew herself and she knew she got particularly cranky without sleep. It was well past midnight, and her body ached to her very bones from everything that had happened.

She ought to have been researching Svartalfheim, and indeed she did flip through her various mythology books, bookmarking the pages that contained mentions of the Dark Elves. But her eyes were burning with exhaustion, and her heart was in too many places. She longed for the oblivion of sleep, and so she soon surrendered to sleep's pull.

* * *

The meagre lights shut off automatically after Dr. Granger's exit, shrouding Loki in the eerie darkness of his prison. There was a distant feathery hum of technology that set him on edge; what was it doing? He sensed eyes on him and knew it must be the cameras, and his pride disallowed him from showing any outward signs of distress. So he gingerly lay back on his bed, the mattress creaking beneath him. He wondered: who was watching him now? Captain Fury, Agent Hill, Agent Romanoff? Perhaps Dr. Banner?

As much as he enjoyed holding his potential escape over their heads, Dr. Granger had been right: he had nowhere to go now. Svartalfheim had been his last bet, and he had backed the wrong horse. They had turned on him, and everything had gone to pieces. He knew, if worse came to worse, he could return to Asgard. His mother would always vouch for him. But that was not an option: just the thought made his heart feel like it was curling in on itself in shame.

In the darkness, his mind played tricks on him. For some reason, as always the case when he was not tired enough to sleep, his mind presented him with all of the things that made him squirm in self-hatred. He needed to occupy himself until he could fall asleep, because this was torturous. So he soundlessly made a copy of himself and left the copy lying on his bed, turned towards the pillow, and he reappeared outside of the prison doors.

The halls were partially lit; the compound was asleep. _Idiots..._ They were so convinced that the invincible Dr. Granger could hold him here... He rounded the corner and came to her door, and paused outside of it.

Well, perhaps they were right — perhaps she was all that was holding him here.

He pressed a palm to her door and leaned against it, his ear to the cool surface. She was probably asleep. She had looked exhausted before, when she had been in his prison. He knew that kind of exhaustion, he knew that emotional fatigue.

Loki turned away from Dr. Granger's room as his heart began to beat a little faster.

He continued down the hall, wary of any signs of others approaching. He could hear soft, muffled noises, and on silent feet he edged toward the conference room, and peered in through the slatted window in the door.

Natasha lay on the table, and the archer stood in front of her, her shapely, muscled legs entwined around his hips, their lips locked. Loki watched with vague interest before turning away. He continued on. Captain America — also, apparently, known as Steve — was asleep in his room, as was Bruce Banner. In one of the recreational rooms, Tony Stark had passed out in a leather recliner, an empty glass tilted on his lap, and a half-gone bottle of whiskey on the little table beside him. In front of him, a large screen was displaying images of some sort of game, but the sound must have been turned off.

Loki turned away and returned to Dr. Granger's room, and rematerialized on the other side of the door. Her room was dark, though the light in the bathroom was still on, and it cast a shaft of white light across her sleeping face.

He stood there, watching her. Why was she so compelling to him? Was it because they were such equals, or was it because she treated him differently? ...Or was it a third, yet unknown option?

He left her room and reappeared in his cell.

He would help them, he decided. It was all he had left.

* * *

Still half-asleep, Hermione dragged herself towards the training facility. She had overslept, and hadn't gotten a chance to have breakfast, though perhaps it was better to work out with Natasha on an empty stomach, given how strenuous the training was.

When she got there, Natasha was warming up at a punching bag next to Steve. Her movements were graceful and feline, and yet, she was moving the bag nearly as much as Steve. For a moment, Hermione stood in the doorway, watching them both deliver powerful punches and kicks to their respective punching bags. Apparently sensing her presence, Natasha turned around and waved to Hermione.

"How did it go with Loki?" she asked as she sauntered over to their boxing ring. Hermione groaned, rubbing her face tiredly.

"Who knows," she grumbled as she kicked off her trainers. Natasha immediately assumed a fighting stance.

"Well, hopefully this'll give you some more confidence," she said before aiming a punch that Hermione only just barely blocked, and clumsily, too.

Still, it was good to get lost in the overexertion and forget about all of the problems. Would Thor have signed the treaty by now, or would the Svartalfs soon be attacking Earth? It felt like a strap was slowly constricting round her chest, squeezing the breath out of her. She really had the sensation of asphyxiating. Hermione knew it was stress — she had always gotten this feeling during exams, back in Hogwarts, and had had it for nearly all of the Horcrux hunt — but knowing it was all in her head did not seem to help her.

After an hour of training, Natasha relented. It was good timing because Hermione was quickly growing dizzy from hunger. When they walked to the cafeteria, however, they ran into Agent Hill, who was bearing a tray with minimal food.

"Not eating with us?" Natasha queried, stopping Agent Hill in the entrance. A flash of unhappiness revealed itself in Agent Hill's eyes; it was gone as fast as it had come.

"This is the food for Loki," she explained. Hermione's lips twisted into a frown as she recalled the fearful respect with which Agent Hill had regarded Loki. She held out her hands, meaning to take the tray.

"I can take it for you, if you want. I don't mind talking to him, and I might as well try to get more out of him," she offered. Agent Hill exhaled in relief, and handed Hermione the tray.

"I shouldn't agree to this, but..." she trailed off helplessly, and Natasha shrugged.

"Eat with me, then. See you later, Granger," she said with a wave. "Good luck."

Hermione, gripping the plastic tray, looked down at it with a grimace.

"Thanks," she said softly, though Natasha and Agent Hill were already gone, "I'm going to need it."

_What will be my goal this time?_ she wondered as she slowly made her way towards Loki's prison, the cutlery and plates jiggling against the tray due to her shaky hands. She told herself that her jitters were due to her exhausted muscles, and she could only hope that was true. She didn't wish to think of herself as a coward; after all, she was a Gryffindor, through and through — it was where the Sorting Hat had placed her and it was where she belonged.

But sometimes, true bravery was courage in the face of terror; it was doing the thing anyway. Hadn't Harry taught her this? Even after all of these years, Hermione continued to look to Harry as a role model. She wanted to be the way Harry was: accepting of his own fear, and respectful of it, but not controlled by it.

_I'll just have to play it by ear,_ she reckoned. She didn't know how receptive Loki was going to be. If he were more open to the idea of playing along and making nice, well, then things would be easy. They would discuss possible courses of action to take in preparation for an attack from Svartalfheim, and it would simply be business.

If, on the other hand, he wasn't so receptive...well, then she was just going to have to find some way to force him. This was a crisis, as she had said the night before, and by pandering to Loki's whims, they were wasting precious and valuable time.

She reached the doors and, to her shock, they slid apart on their own. _Has Fury changed the protocol...? _On the other side, past the second set of doors, Loki was seated in the same chair she had used before, one ankle positioned on his knee. The doors shut more slowly behind her as Hermione scowled at Loki.

"If you openly taunt SHIELD, it's going to upset them for no reason," she scolded him. "It's very impressive that you can open those special doors, but you're going to have to stop." Loki quirked a brow, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

"But you brought me lunch — you're rewarding me for bad behavior, Dr. Granger."

"How do you know this isn't mine? I haven't eaten yet, and I just got back from another training session with Agent Romanoff. I'm quite hungry, you know." She had no idea where this absurd confidence was suddenly coming from, but she was certainly going to make use of it. Hermione swanned over to the other chair and plopped down on it and began cutting the vegetables. Loki looked scandalized as Hermione put some broccoli in her mouth and began to chew, loudly, open-mouthed, maintaining eye contact with him all the while.

"I don't like Midgardian vegetables anyway," he finally said snidely, after recovering from his apparent horror. He turned back to face the doors, his arms folded over his chest. Hermione sniggered.

"More for me," she said loftily. "Mm. These are so good. And the bread is freshly baked. Yum," she sighed exaggeratedly. Loki looked like he was concentrating very hard on not looking back at her. "My stomach was growling, I was so hungry, but now that I'm — gah!"

The tray flew out of her lap and zoomed over to Loki. As an afterthought, he waved his hand, and the chunk of sourdough bread she had been holding flung itself from her grip and over to the tray. Loki was smirking.

"More for me," he imitated, and took a bite of the bread she had just been eating. Now it was her turn to cross her arms over her chest and scowl at him. She reached for her wand in her pocket, wishing she could do wandless magic — she was okay at it but it took some effort — and flicked it. The food transformed into little yellow birds (one of her infamous specialties, of course) and with loud tweets fluttered around Loki's head. Loki cast the tray aside, where it clattered upon the floor, though a broad smirk was tugging at his pretty lips. He rose to his feet as the birds turned evergreen and morphed into large, jewel-like insects reminiscent of dragonflies, and zoomed towards Hermione.

With a wave of her wand, the winged creatures slowed in midair — with another, they crumpled to filmy iridescent flecks and wafted to the floor. Loki's eyes were intense as they reassembled into a glittering mass, grew, and became a second incarnation of Loki. Hermione slashed the air with her wand, and the incarnation burst into emerald flames.

The effigy burned away, revealing the real Loki behind it, his eyes flashing, their depths just as scalding as the flames before them. "You're quite the talented little Midgardian," he said softly, studying her as he approached her. "I have decided to help you."

Relief coursed through Hermione and she wanted to fall over and slump into the chair, but she couldn't reveal just how relieved she was. She licked her lips; her mouth had gone dry.

"...Good. Good," she said slowly. "Then what should our first step be?"

Loki turned swiftly and began pacing; with his back turned, she could appreciate his form a little more freely. The black clothes suited him and highlighted his tall, svelte, and elegant stature. _This would be a whole lot easier if I didn't find him so attractive, _she thought sourly.

"The Svartalf's magic is quite similar to mine," said Loki, his back still turned to her, "though it is far more powerful and complex. If we could determine methods to harness my powers, I believe we could combat the Svartalfs."

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face as Loki turned to her.

"But my magic doesn't seem to hold on you," she said flatly. Loki arched his brow.

"It does appear to sometimes, but the physics of Midgard and Svartalfheim and Asgard are all quite different — therefore our magic will interact differently, both with each other and with the environment. If you were able to somehow augment your own magic, it might be more likely to work against the Svartalfs."

Hermione slumped down onto the chair she had been sitting on, resting her chin in hand as she scowled at the tiled floor in thought.

"But — not to be egotistical, or anything, I'm just being honest — my magic is far more powerful than most Wizards or Witches. If my magic doesn't approach being powerful enough...well then, no one else's will."

Loki waved his hand in a gesture, and his chair scraped across the floor so he could sit a metre or so away from Hermione.

"It is not that it needs to be powerful, Dr. Granger, so much as it needs to be expanded." Loki paused. "I believe it is possible for our magic to influence each other, and if so, then that new magic will be different from any other realm. If it is different, the Svartalfs cannot adequately combat it."

"And do you think they will try to? I mean, do you think an attack on Earth is likely?" Hermione raised her eyes to meet Loki's. They were narrowed in thought.

"An attack is definite. The Svartalfs have been planning on attacking and taking over Midgard for quite some time now, but they didn't — because Odin was still alive and had signed a peace treaty with Jotunheim. The Svartalfs obeyed the Jotuns; now that Odin is gone, that no longer holds. Thor is trying to forge a relationship with the Jotuns, but because of past events, that will be...difficult for him."

Hermione frowned at him now.

"But if you got involved, because you are part Jotun, you could make that much easier. Instead, you've just caused trouble. I hope you're happy," she grouched, pulling at her hair in frustration. "Is it too late to try and aid Thor in negotiating with the Jotuns, then, if it could mean the Svartalfs pulling back?"

Loki tapped his fingers on his knee in a pattern as he thought, his eyes raised skyward.

"It would not make a difference. The Jotuns see me as Thor's brother first, and as a fellow Jotun a distant second. They do not wish to make peace with Asgard now that Odin is gone, and the pressure is off."

"So then our only option is to defend against Svartalfheim. Will we get any aid from any other realms?"

Loki scoffed.

"Absolutely not. Obviously, Midgard and Asgard are now allied — and that counts for something, I do admit. With Thor on your side, this is much more likely to be resolved quickly. He is Thor Odinson, after all, no matter how foolish he may be — and again, that still counts for something." He shifted in his chair, now regarding Hermione again.

When he wasn't playing tricks or looking at her with that sly grin, he was much easier to be around, and her distress was quickly dissipating. She knew Loki was a clever, talented man and discussing options was revealing that further. It was nice to, for a change, work with a man she could consider above her or, at least, her equal, on both a magical and an intellectual level.

"So all we can do is work on developing a defense against them. What do you think is the best defense?" She found herself edging her chair closer, and leaning forward.

"The Svartalfs are not a large race — their entire population is a fraction of that of Midgard. A small fraction, at that. And their warriors are an even smaller portion of that. When they attack, it will be a concentrated and focused attack. If we can lure them to a particular place here on Midgard with little to no population, then it is more likely that innocent lives will not be lost. Once they are here, we will have to have a very careful and very powerful defense planned. If you and I head the defense, and we choose our own warriors carefully, then I believe we have a high chance of success."

What an analytical and thoughtful man Loki was! Hermione watched Loki as she took in his plans. He clearly had thought this through already. _He should be Thor's main advisor, _she realized sadly. _And Thor probably knows that, and is probably missing him. _She could bet that whoever was Thor's advisor would not be half as clever or as knowledgable as Loki. Yet again, her heart broke for the two brothers. ...Perhaps this battle could unite them.

"And how do you suggest we expand our magic to work together?" she asked now. Loki's lips quirked as he arched his brows at her.

"Well, I don't have _all_ the answers, Dr. Granger," he snarked. Hermione found herself grinning.

"You're right — I apologize. It just seems that you have given this some thought." She could see Loki's pleasure at her implicit compliment, in the way his eyes seemed to glimmer. It disappeared when he next fixed her with a piercing stare.

"I would assume that after you had thought on it, you would reach the same conclusion," he said simply.

For a few beats too long, they regarded each other archly. Loki was always a challenge, wasn't he? There seemed to be sparsely few moments where they were not verbally combatting. It was, in a strange way, exhilarating. Hermione felt like a live wire, run through with electricity. Her fear was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it was infused with adrenaline.

She had missed this. She had missed this excitement, this edge, this drive. She had not felt so alive since the hunt for the Horcruxes. Deep inside her, that same old hunger was being revealed.

"Well, I suppose I should go research the Svartalfs and get some food. I'll come back in a bit and we can start working on blending our magic," she said finally. She rose to her feet, wincing slightly at the soreness in her muscles.

"You may fetch me some food as well," said Loki imperiously. Hermione rounded on him, ready to scold him, but faltered when she saw the wit and cheek in his expression. She found herself smirking back at him.

"Very funny," she said grudgingly. "I will bring you some food — after I'm done mine," she called over her shoulder. "Mind getting the door for me?"

The implicit nonchalance and camaraderie in her request had been intentional — she wanted Loki to treat her as a friend. If he felt more comfortable around her, they could form a bond...and perhaps she could avert yet another crisis. The doors slid open before her, and Hermione made to step through them, only they began to shut again. They halted just before squashing her, and Hermione groaned and waited patiently, hearing Loki's snigger before they parted again, allowing her to walk away.

* * *

That evening, Thor returned to the compound. Hermione waited with the others in the conference room, as Loki was brought in, escorted by two agents and followed by both Fury and Agent Hill.

To watch the change in the atmosphere of the room was shocking, when Loki entered: sharp breaths were drawn, chairs scraped against the floor as people straightened, and the tension tautened tight as a bow. The door slid aside revealing Loki, and Hermione found herself watching the other Avengers, looking for their reactions.

The pure, unadulterated hatred burning in Natasha's eyes was awful, and Hermione was relieved that she had never thought to admit her embarrassing secret to her as she had done with Jane. Jane's eyes, by contrast, were merely filled with curiosity. _A scientist through and through, _Hermione thought fondly. Bruce Banner had gone quite pale and was looking at Loki with that same fearsome respect with which Agent Hill had regarded him. Tony and Steve both appeared to be swallowing back anger and rage. Clint seemed more ambivalent, watching Loki with an analytical stare.

And last but not least, Thor's face was wan and drawn. He looked exhausted and beaten down.

"Loki will remain secured here with Agent Taylor for the duration of this meeting," said Captain Fury, stepping to the head of the room where Thor stood. Hermione bit her lip. The gleaming metal handcuffs on Loki's wrists meant even less to him than the ones with which she had secured him the night before. However, to his credit, Loki was remaining in the restraints.

Across the room, their eyes met, and before Hermione could give away any sort of familiarity, she looked away. She did not want the others to see that she could not help but esteem Loki for his intelligence.

"The Svartalfs are preparing to attack," announced Thor. "They would not agree to a peace treaty. We must prepare both Midgard and Asgard for an attack."

_I suppose it's now or never, _Hermione thought, heaving herself to her feet.

"I discussed the matter with Loki today, Thor, and we came up with a possible plan of defense," she said, her cheeks heating at the many stares on her now. Most of all, she imagined she could feel Loki's. "Loki believes that if he and I work together on a magical defense, we have a chance against the Svartalfs — especially if we can lure them here to Earth, which is more distinct from their own realm in terms of how their magic works. That means they will be less equipped to fight against us, and we will have a strategic advantage." She paused, waiting for someone to stop her, but no one did. "Loki believes that if we lure the Svartalfs to a desolate part of the Earth, and if we carefully plan our defense team, we will defeat the Svartalfs."

For several moments, no one spoke. Finally, Fury seemed to have gathered his wits.

"And how could we possibly lure the Svartalfs to Earth, Dr. Granger? We don't even know _when_ they will attack."

"If Thor can continue to pretend to negotiate with the Svartalf king, it ought to buy us time," Loki interjected. "They are a fierce race but their current king is an imbecile. Thor can easily distract them long enough for Dr. Granger and I to plan more carefully."

"And? Do you really think you could do that, Thor?" Fury asked? Hermione looked to Thor, and was surprised to see how visibly brighter he seemed... He must have been lit up by Loki's faith in him. He drew himself up to his full height, towering over all others in the room, save for Loki.

"If I make a second attempt at negotiations with the Jotuns, then the Jotuns will most likely discuss it with the Svartalfs. The Svartalfs won't act if there is any chance of the Jotuns allying with us," said Thor, sounding much more like his usual confident, kingly self. "I like this plan — my brother knows the Svartalf people well. I trust him," said Thor.

Hermione tensed in anticipation of the response to such a controversial comment. After everything, it seemed so impossible for Thor to ever trust Loki again — yet here he was, looking at Loki now. Further respect for Thor grew in her; she wished she could be as loyal and trusting as Thor was.

"...Are you sure that's wise, Thor?"

"It doesn't matter, Fury. I trust Loki, and I know this plan is our best bet," he said firmly. "I'll return to Asgard and begin working on negotiations with Jotunheim — I will send messages of my progress if I cannot deliver them myself," he said.

The meeting dispersed; Thor left to teleport back to Asgard, and Hermione was left to begin her research with Loki. He had already been escorted back to his cell, and now she stood before the first set of doors, her heart pounding. The others had been notably cooler to her after learning how much she had discussed with Loki, and it had hurt — but she couldn't think of it now. Besides, it was understandable. They knew Loki only as a threat — they had not seen Thor's memories. They did not know the man Loki once had been, and the man he could become.

She would have to prove it to them.


	6. Chapter 6

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed last time: **Blackshirt16, ****Ceralyn, rainstormlove, eltseth, Raychaell Dionzeros, DocteureCrane, SinoPrisca, UnattainableDarkAngel, Eternally Free, Hermitt, Shan84, ShimmeringWater, patricia pc, andiescandie, mh21, liljennmartin, NorthernLights25, moor, Dreamless-Sleep777, Cellar, marana1, Lorem tenebrae, InkedQuill, booklove44, Kirtash R, and biankie88.**

Disclaimer: the HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Six.**

* * *

Thor strode towards the teleportation pad, his emotions turbulent. Light but frantic footsteps on the floor behind him caught his attention, and he turned to find Jane scrambling towards him, her hair in disarray. When she reached him, she skidded to a stop, panting, her trainers screeching on the linoleum.

"I...I... I just," she began, her voice breaking. Without warning, she threw her little arms around his middle, burying her face into his chest.

For a moment, he was too shocked to react. He had never seen Jane show affection so spontaneously. He finally wrapped his arms around her as well, lifting her off the floor and earning a wet-sounding laugh from her, that was muffled by his clothing. "I know that must have been hard," she said finally, when he had released her and she had turned away, rubbing at her eyes. "God. He just seems so..." she trailed off, turning to face him again, her warm brown eyes — so warm and full of love for someone whose life was so heavily entrenched in cold, hard facts — searching his.

"I know, Jane," he said wearily. There were no words that could adequately describe how that meeting had gone. Loki had been so quiet, so calm, and so like the old days, before he had come to Midgard hell-bent on destruction. But could he be trusted? Thor had singularly stood behind his brother, but it wasn't without reservation. He knew Loki better than anyone, but he also knew himself: he knew he wanted to believe Loki more than anyone.

Perhaps that was why he felt he had a bond with Dr. Granger — she seemed, though she had not yet voiced it, to see the good in Loki. He had known that someone like her would understand the memories that he had shown her, and it felt good to know that he wasn't the only one who knew that Loki was not just a destroyer, not just a wild force of hatred.

Thor found his relief in seeing Jane, who so clearly understood him, through and through. Now she gave a shy half-smile, locks of thick straight brown hair falling in her face. A surge of love filled him and he found himself just wanting to stay here, to hide away, with Jane. It couldn't happen, of course. He was king and it was his job to ensure that Midgard was saved.

But he was finally beginning to understand why Odin had warned him of the throne not really being made out of solid gold.

"You should go," she said now, looking away again.

"I'll be back," he said gently. He leaned closer and tilted her sharp chin so that she was forced to look at him. Her eyes were wet and she blinked rapidly. "It will be fine. My brother is going to help us, Jane."

"What if he's lying?" she asked beseechingly. Thor set his jaw.

"I cannot think that way," he said firmly. He pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling away reluctantly. "Besides...I believe Loki has found motivation to stay in Midgard's good graces," he added thoughtfully. He recalled the look that Loki had discretely cast Dr. Granger during the meeting, when he had thought no one else was looking.

Yes, he knew Loki better than anyone else did. That was for certain.

"Come back soon," Jane sighed. Thor smiled reassuringly and strode to the teleportation pad, standing a little taller than he had been a few moments ago. As he disappeared, he watched Jane wave a bit sadly at him, her petite hands partially hidden by her long sleeves. As always the case when seeing Jane, he was overcome with the urge to protect, to keep safe. _The best leaders have their weaknesses, _he consoled himself. For what was strength without weakness, what was light without darkness? Still, as he grew older and wiser, he was beginning to learn to fear pain and loss. He had already lost his brother — he was afraid of losing anyone else.

* * *

The doors parted; beyond them Loki stood beneath the light. In his elegant hands was a glowing, nebulous orb. The doors slammed shut and at the noise, the orb abruptly disappeared. Loki dropped his hands as the light faded.

"Already experimenting?" Hermione ventured. "Have you come up with anything?"

"I may have a few ideas," Loki replied, turning to her slightly. Their eyes met and Hermione fought against the urge to cringe away from him as she thought of all that she had seen pass between Loki and Thor. Thor's words in the conference room had been so trusting, so faithful to Loki. This was in sharp counterpoint to the hate-filled stares of the other Avengers. It could not have felt good, to have to walk into a room filled with people who despised him so clearly. Worse yet must have been to see how much faith Thor still held in him — it must have made him feel so guilty, she thought. No matter how hard Loki was trying to push Thor away, Thor would not be deterred. Loki may have not been Odin's favorite son, but he was certainly Thor's favorite friend. Anyone could see that. It was so admirably human of Thor to not relinquish his feelings of friendship and brotherhood for Loki, in spite of everything — and she wondered if Loki would allow himself to be forgiven for all that he had done, or if he would continue to try and push away everyone who loved him.

She sat down on the chair that was still across from the bed. She was overcome with the urge to comfort him, yet at the same time she couldn't forget all of the people who had suffered for Loki's angst. The animosity of all of the Avengers, who all seemed to be relatively empathetic and forgiving people, had proven just that.

"Nothing can erase what happened, what you did," Hermione began finally. Loki looked up; his expression was unreadable. "But if we get this right, it will really help to make up for it. Your brother wants to be your best friend again, Loki."

Loki's eyes hardened and he stepped closer, so close she was hit with the scent of his skin. Goosebumps prickled along her skin. As always with Loki, she wanted to both back away and step closer to him.

"I am not doing this to be 'best friends again' with Thor, you stupid little girl," hissed Loki, his voice going into an embarrassingly uncanny imitation of her words. In spite of everything, Hermione's cheeks flushed in humiliation, and she shot to her feet, the chair scraping backwards. Furiously she snatched the chair and stood on its seat.

Finally, she was truly eye-to-eye with Loki...

...Even if it did, sadly, require the help of a chair. She set her hands on her hips.

"We're colleagues now, Loki — like it or not. We already went over this. I'm trying to be nice and civil to you to make this run more smoothly, but if belligerence is what you want, belligerence is what you shall get," she snapped. With a rather harsh flick of her wand, Loki was forced back down to sit on the bed. To her complete surprise, he brightened.

"It must be that you need to put more force into your magic — I couldn't defend against it in time, just then."

Hermione's wand clattered to the floor as her jaw dropped. Abruptly she snapped it shut and hopped off the chair to grab her wand again.

"You're saying it overpowered you?"

"Here we are with Midgard's most powerful witch, apparently, and she needs everything reiterated," said Loki lazily. Hermione scowled, both at his words and at the fact that she had just caught herself appreciating how animated his features always were. Every word of his was accentuated by a slight lift of his brows, a quirk of his lips, a flashing in his eyes. A warmth was beginning to unfurl in the pit of her belly as she continued to look into his eyes. She didn't like where this was going. She pulled her wand away and turned back to her chair.

"Well, that still doesn't answer the question of how we could possibly combine our magic," she said bitterly, slumping down a bit brattily on the chair. Something occurred to Hermione, and she straightened a bit. "How do you perform your magic, anyway? I mean, what conducts the spells? Wizards and witches use wands — we don't _have_ to, but most people can't accomplish meaningful magic without them," she explained, holding up her own wand demonstratively. Loki shrugged slightly.

"I simply...think things...and they happen," he said. "There are limits to my powers, obviously, but mainly what I can do is draw on magical energy around me — so I can perform magic in any realm. It's not the same as in Asgard, of course. I had most practice there."

"So you just think, for example, that you want to make a copy...and it happens?" Hermione was leaning forward now. "What happens when you try to do something and it doesn't work? I mean, what happens when you cannot perform a trick that you tried to perform?"

"Nothing happens. I can only manipulate my surroundings, so I can manipulate spells I am attacked by, and I can move from one place to the next, and I can transform matter to appear as though it is something else."

"But it doesn't fundamentally change?"

"No. For example, when you turned your lunch into those little yellow birds," Loki explained, gesturing with his angular hands, "you fundamentally changed the food into those birds. But if I were to do something like that, once I released control of the birds, they would turn back into food."

Hermione massaged her temples; her mind was racing with so many ideas and she was having trouble organizing her thoughts.

"And you're saying the Svartalfs have similar magic to you? So, they cannot permanently change things — they can only make them appear to have changed?"

"And they can't create matter."

Hermione snorted.

"Well, no one can — it just so happens to be one of the fundamental laws of the universe."

A slow smile curved Loki's pretty lips, and he leaned back, resting on his elbows, his eyes flashing with mischief. "Oh, what now," she demanded irritably.

"It's one of the fundamental laws of _this_ universe," he pointed out, "and not only that — it's just something that was theorized by some Midgardian. That doesn't make it true."

Hermione choked on her own spit at what Loki was implying — that Einstein had been _wrong_. Not only that, but the way he had phrased it was nearly blasphemous. _Einstein — 'some Midgardian.' Right,_ she snorted inwardly. If anything, that would be a nice little treat to revisit later on, when she needed a laugh over something.

"And just which realms _are_ capable of creating matter?"

"Oh, I won't trouble you with the details — it might be too much for your little Midgardian brain to cope with," he sighed with a shrug. Now it was Hermione's turn to raise her brows at him. "Well, Midgardians _are_ smaller than Asgardians," he pointed out. "Far less room for a nice, large brain." Hermione smirked.

"Size doesn't matter. It's not what you have, it's how you use it," she snarked. Loki's eyes seemed to darken with amusement, his half-smirk almost inviting. Now Hermione was wishing she could take back the double entendre, and she found herself drawing in a deep breath in anticipation. Loki made a show of wincing.

"Ouch, Dr. Granger. You stab me with your unparalleled wit," he said, holding his palm to his heart. Hermione rolled her eyes, fighting down the warmth threatening to travel to her cheeks.

"Never mind this nonsense. We've got work to do." She rose to her feet, looking down at her wand. "So if you can only manipulate attacks from me, then does that mean you cannot attack me with magic on your own?"

"I could certainly attack you, if that is what you wish."

"Ha ha," she said shortly. "You know what I mean. So, you can't send a spell at me, then?"

Loki also rose to his feet, looking thoughtful.

"I can only manipulate what is already here. There is a lot of magical energy left over in Midgard because so few Midgardians draw on it. If you're good at manipulating that magic, attacks are simple. The Svartalfs will not be as accomplished as I am in manipulating loose, free energy, but if you send a spell at them, they will be able to use it. On the other hand, I believe magic is the only way to defeating them."

"Is that your logic or your ego talking?" Hermione asked, arching her brows and folding her arms across her chest. Loki's lips twisted into a sneer.

"Both, Dr. Granger. My confidence is founded on truth. I am only confident about those things which I ought to be," he said archly. "The Svartalfs have spent little to no time on Midgard — therefore, they have no practice with their magic here."

"You, however, have spent plenty of time destroying things around here," she pointed out haughtily. The amusement in Loki's eyes flickered again.

"Destruction is another form of creation, Dr. Granger," said Loki silkily. "When your supposed 'God' created this universe, what do you think was here before?"

"Nothing, since _apparently_ matter can be created now," Hermione retorted dully, holding up her hands. "I still cannot believe you have the arrogance to defy Einstein of all people."

Loki watched the witch's eyes flash with fire and defiance. It came to him that, possibly, the reason he found Dr. Granger so compelling was the absolute knowledge that she would never submit to him. Every time he felt he had gotten a steady grasp on her, every time he felt he had figuratively shoved her to her knees, she slipped from his grip again, rising up to meet him eye-to-eye. This witch would not be dominated; she would not be overpowered.

The thought was both intriguing and maddening. It was almost a personal insult — that anyone, least of all some pathetic Midgardian, could disobey him. For all of his magic, for all of his wit and cleverness, Dr. Granger would not be pushed down. It made him feel inferior in precisely the way he had spent all of his life feeling, and a bubble of rage, defensiveness, and something else that was yet unidentified burst within him. How he longed to see her kneel to him, how he longed to be the one to possess her and overpower her...yet at the same time, how he hated the very thought of it!

"I still cannot believe you have the arrogance to defy a god," he parried softly, watching her face contort into a look of disbelief.

"Oh, not that bloody god business again!" she said exasperatedly. This was not the effect that he had been looking for. She threw her arms in the air sheepishly. "At this rate, just about anyone could become a god. Ooh, let me go get my horned helmet and run around calling myself the god of Midgard!" she said scathingly.

Loki smirked.

"You would look terribly stupid in a horned helmet," he retorted. A cheeky look flickered in Dr. Granger's pretty brown eyes.

"Most people do — even Asgardians," she said sweetly. Before Loki could react, she continued. "So then, back to the thing we're supposed to be talking about: if the Svartalfs can manipulate focused magic, then how are we supposed to attack them?"

Loki's features smoothed over, back into his usual unreadable yet compelling expression.

"Dr. Granger, if you say you are one of the more powerful witches of Midgard, and if I say I am the most talented across the realms at manipulating a realm's energy... what do you think should happen then?"

He was leading her to the answer. Hermione despised having to be led anywhere — she despised anyone getting the intellectual better of her. She seethed as she tried to understand, and, quite suddenly, it all fit together.

"Powerful witches and wizards usually radiate more magic," she said slowly, her eyes meeting Loki's. He nodded slowly. "And, if there are a concentrated number of powerful witches and wizards, then there will be a lot of extra magic in the atmosphere. And if there is a lot of extra magic... then there is a lot of it for you to manipulate."

"Precisely," Loki murmured, his eyes darkening. A shiver ran up Hermione's spine as he stepped closer. "And if the Svartalfs are not expecting me, then they will not be prepared to defend against me."

"Are you sure that you alone can defend Earth against an entire realm?" Hermione asked skeptically, though her heart was beginning to beat a little faster. She had seen this sort of arrogance, this sort of confidence before — and it had nearly wrecked the Wizarding world.

Only Lord Voldemort had had this sort of confidence.

Yet, was it not alluring? Hermione found herself moving closer, closer to the subtly flickering flame that so tempted her.

"Ah, correction, Dr. Granger — it is not I alone defending Midgard. It is as many powerful magical Midgardians as you can gather in one place, and I am nothing more than a conduit for their power," he corrected softly. Hermione breathed in through her nose sharply as the idea began to take root in her mind.

The only problem was...where would they get that kind of power?

"I suppose the Aurors would be good, because they could defend themselves in the event of an attack," Hermione thought aloud, rubbing at her neck in contemplation.

Loki looked questioningly at her. "Oh, right. Aurors are sort of...erm...a very specialized defense force for the Wizarding world. Actually, the current head of the Auror department is my friend Harry Potter, who defeated Lord Voldemort — the man who started the war that I fought in," she explained. Her hands began to tremble with excitement. "I could get them to come here — they're already trained in intelligence, so it wouldn't be a problem to ensure there were no intel leaks — and we could try it out," she suggested eagerly. Loki nodded, and at that, Hermione couldn't resist letting out a squeal and hopping over to the doors. "I'll be right back — I have to talk to Harry!"

Loki watched her go; her bushy brown braid disappeared last and he slowly sat back down on his bed. His heart was beginning to do double-time at the prospect of what they were planning.

_Your brother wants to be your best friend again, Loki. _

She had said it so tenderly, so confidently — as though she had seen both him and Thor inside and out, as though she knew his deeper secrets. What audacity of her, to presume she could ever understand him. Yet his mind's eye continually returned to the way Thor had looked at him, during the meeting. He could not unsee the tenderness and the love in Thor's familiar blue-grey eyes, no matter how much he wished it.

For a moment, it had truly felt like old times: he had come up with a suggestion and Thor, so careless, impulsive, and trusting, had blindly endorsed it. Once upon a time, that sort of trust had been the foundation on which their camaraderie had been based. Now, it was an insult. _You stupid idiot, Thor, _he thought fiercely. _What a fool, to trust me! _

Another bubble of rage erupted and with a roar, he slashed his hand through the air, and the room burst into flame. Gasping and seething, he closed his eyes, and soon, the flames were gone, and the room was just as it had been. Was he not a fool as well, to devote any energy to these foolish thoughts, to dwell on times long since past?

Suddenly, he _hated_ Dr. Granger. He despised her for poking her nose in where she should never have, for making his dark past her business. He despised her for being so intriguing to him, so compelling. He despised her for not submitting to him, for never being manipulated by him. He longed to wring her delicate, pale neck. His hand twitched and he closed it into a fist, imagining. Her eyes would bulge, her skin would turn ruddy and then purple as she asphyxiated, the veins in her hands and neck would throb and purple as she fought against him — and then the vitality, the sparkle, the wit, it would all seep from her lovely eyes, and her hands would drop away from him. He would let go of her neck, and she would crumple to the floor, limbs lifeless and useless like a doll.

Finally, she would be kneeling before him; finally she would be submitting — but it would only be in death.

* * *

After contacting Kingsley, Hermione paced in the empty conference room. She had specifically requested privacy for this meeting with Harry, and even now she found herself nonverbally casting wards around the room. Captain Fury was a shrewd man, she knew, and even if he had 'promised' to leave them alone for the meeting, there was no doubt in her mind that he would place a few strategic mics and cameras about the place. It was what she would do, after all, and she had to assume that Fury was just as sharp as she was.

It had occurred to her that Loki might be simply trying to use this to his advantage and, instead of actually defending Earth against the Svartalfs, use all of that harnessed magic to rule Earth once and for all. At this possibility, she found herself pacing more rapidly, as her heart rate increased. If only she could use Legilimency on Loki and see what his plans truly were! Yet at the same time, the idea of looking into Loki's mind was terrifying. She was scared of what she might find there. It had become surprisingly easy to pretend Loki was just another clever man, and she did not want such a lovely illusion dashed so soon.

Thankfully, a sharp _crack _interrupted her dark musings, and Harry appeared before her, in all of his lean, wiry, messy-haired glory. It had felt like years since she had seen anyone familiar other than Ron, and unexpectedly she threw her arms around Harry in one of her infamous bone-crushing hugs. Harry let out a choke.

"Alright, Hermione?" he rasped, patting her sharply on the back. Hermione relinquished him with a teary smile.

"I missed you, that's all," she muttered, turning away to rub her eyes. When she looked back, Harry was studying her shrewdly. He then glanced around the room suspiciously. "Already set up wards — their cameras and mics won't work," she explained quickly. Harry sighed in relief before turning sharply back to her.

"Hermione, you look terrible. What have they been doing to you here?" he demanded. Then his eyes softened slightly, and the bile rose in her throat as she realized what he was next going to ask. After all, he and Ron saw each other daily, and he was still Ron's best friend as well.

"I had to, Harry," she said quickly and desperately, jumping the gun. Harry remained silent, his almond-shaped eyes darkening in turmoil. "When you learn about this mission, and who it involves, then you'll understand. We're working with a former enemy of the Earth, and he is very much like Voldemort. I can't afford to have Ron as an attachment — he could get hurt."

Harry's face flushed in anger.

"And we're allying with this man?" he demanded roughly.

"It's complicated, but we all agreed it was the best course of action," said Hermione. Of course this was just a tiny, minor lie, but Harry didn't need to find that out yet. No one but her, Loki, and Thor seemed to be at all happy about this plan. "Come on — why don't you sit down?"

She pointed to one of the wheelie chairs; Harry had known her long enough to realize it was an order. And though, technically, he was of a higher rank than she was (being not only the head of the Auror department but also the vanquisher of the Dark Lord) he also had known her long enough to know better than to disobey.

"I'm guessing I'm going to need it," he clarified wryly, and Hermione found herself grinning. She was surprisingly relieved to have Harry here, and she found herself letting out a sigh of relief.

She wasted no time and dove into the explanation, watching warily as Harry's expressions morphed from professional interest into anxiety, then into rage, then into genuine horror, and then, finally, into complete resignation. Hermione joined him and dropped into a chair, weighted down with the troubles of this realm. _It all depends on us, _she realized. _Yet again, it comes down to a bunch of kids and the whims of an arrogant, psychotic, walking powerhouse of a man. _

At least, this time, they had said arrogant psychotic powerhouse of a man on their side — _at least, so we think_, she thought grimly.

"So will you get the other Aurors to help?" she prodded hopefully, though she knew the answer. Of course Harry would find some way to help — it was his nature, and his job.

"I want to meet Loki," he said, lifting his chin slightly. Hermione saw that defiant gleam in his eyes that she knew so well, and she deflated slightly as her belly clenched in pure fear.

"I'm afraid that's a poor idea," she replied, wringing her hands, suddenly not so relieved to have Harry here. "It'd be better if you just worked remotely from him." Harry eyed her.

"You're hiding something from me again to save my feelings," he accused immediately. Enough years had passed for Harry to catch on to her ways more quickly now. Though the thought of Harry and Loki coming face-to-face was nearly as horrible as the idea of Ron meeting Loki, it was also intriguing. Harry had confessed to her, once, that he had felt that seeing the young Lord Voldemort in the memories from the Pensieve had made him empathize with Voldemort. Of course, this was ludicrous, to empathize with a man totally lacking in empathy. But what he had meant was that he had seen his own worst traits reflected in Tom Riddle: his desperation to get his own way, his willingness to sink to manipulation and using others' weaknesses to his own advantage, and the arrogance required to seek power.

Hermione now thought of the similarities she had observed between Loki and Voldemort...and she wondered what similarities between Harry and Loki might crop up if they met.

"Loki is a difficult man, Harry. He is very manipulative — and far worse in that sense than Voldemort, because he _can_ love, and he _can_ feel sympathy and empathy." She paused, as Harry's eyes searched hers. "He has nicknames, like the Silvertongue and the Trickster. He finds manipulating others to be good sport."

Harry scoffed.

"Hermione, I work with these types all the time — maybe not on the same scale, but I know these blokes." He held up his hands, laughing slightly. "This Loki bloke is not going to get the best of me. I just want to meet him; see what we're working with." He rose to his feet, dusting off his impressive official Auror robes. "After that, I'll have a meeting with the Auror department to discuss who we can take, and then, we can set up something with this Captain Nick Fury."

Hermione's gut was twisting, clenching. _No no no no no no no. _She didn't want to do this. She didn't want Harry to meet Loki.

What if he saw the truth? What if Harry, so unexpectedly shrewd about her deeper secrets, saw her attraction to Loki?

She would just have to hide it.

Grudgingly she rose to her feet as well, and with legs like lead, went to the door. Unsurprisingly, Fury, Agent Hill, and Natasha were waiting outside. Natasha's eyes roved over Harry with indecent interest, and Harry's cheeks turned a bit pink.

"You disabled our bugs," Fury said immediately, his eyes hardening. Hermione scowled.

"You broke your promise to _not_ bug the room," she retorted. "Business is business, Fury — don't mess with me."

Agent Hill, standing behind Fury, choked in surprise before giving Hermione a discrete thumbs-up. Meanwhile, Natasha and Harry were still making eyes at each other. Hermione rolled her eyes. _Oh right. Forgot about that little problem of Potter men loving sassy redheads,_ she groaned inwardly. "Anyway. This is Harry Potter — he is the head of the Auror force in Britain and was the victor in the Battle of Hogwarts. He defeated a mass murderer," she clarified at the mystified looks on their faces. Harry was growing quite pink, though luckily he seemed to master himself quickly.

"I would like to meet Loki Laufeyson before making any decisions," Harry explained in a businesslike tone. It was always surprising to see Harry at work — normally, he was so informal and pleasant, if a bit reserved. At work, he became this unrecognizably brusque and detached person.

"Well, I'm sure Dr. Granger can show you the way — as apparently, she makes the rules around here," said Fury irritably. Harry's lips twitched; he was fighting to stifle a smirk.

"Dr. Granger has always been the one to make the rules, Captain Fury. Glad you know that," he said amiably before gesturing for Hermione to lead. Of course, he could not resist one last glance back at Natasha. Hermione briskly pulled him away from the attractive woman; Harry was quite happily married to Ginny and would never cheat, and Hermione suspected Natasha and Clint had some sort of casual romance brewing as well. Also, Natasha did not strike her as the type to cheat either. But there was no reason to let that go any further than eye-sex.

* * *

They reached Loki's prison, and Hermione keyed in the codes and was scanned, allowing the doors to slide open. Loki was lying on his bed, facing the ceiling. When the doors slid shut behind them, he sat up.

"I am Auror Harry Potter, of the Ministry of Magic of Britain," said Harry. Hermione noticed he was standing straight, his shoulders back, his posture much more dominant and confident than usual. Loki's lips quirked, and he rose from the bed.

"Of course," he began in a velvety voice, "the Hero Who Conquered the Dark Lord," he said sarcastically. A muscle in Harry's jaw leapt. _This is not good, _Hermione thought.

"I was wondering if we could have a bit of a chat," Harry continued, acting as though Loki hadn't been incredibly disrespectful. He strode over to the chair and sat on it, his legs apart slightly. _He's trying to take up more space,_ she recognized. How typical of men to try and make themselves bigger to intimidate others. It was a sub-conscious thing, naturally. Harry probably had no idea he was doing it.

Of course, Loki was not to be intimidated, and from the shadows, Hermione observed.

"By all means, Harry Potter," said Loki silkily, as he took his seat on the bed. Harry's eyes were hard and flinty.

"I'm going to cut through the bullshit, Loki," said Harry plainly. He leaned forward slightly. "I have no idea of whether I can trust you."

"You cannot trust me. But you have no other options," Loki replied simply, holding his palms up. Harry's eyes widened slightly. "I'm just 'cutting through the bullshit' like you did," he added innocently.

The two men regarded each other for one silent, tense moment. Harry seemed to be assessing the situation and contemplating his possible next moves. Hermione watched as Harry seemed to come to the inevitable conclusion: right now, there _weren't_ any other options. They had been backed into a corner, and though it was partially Loki's fault, he was also currently the only person who could effectively help them out of that corner.

"From what I have been told, Loki, you have attempted to take control of our entire planet using extreme violence and causing serious destruction," he continued, apparently trying to blaze through this meeting. Loki arched a brow.

"And do you always believe what you have been told?"

"When Hermione Granger tells me, then yes — I do," he said shortly. "You are more of an enemy to us than the Svartalfs, and not only that, you have coerced the Svartalfs into attacking us."

"No, I didn't," Loki said, "I merely went looking for an ally in them against Midgard. They did not receive me hospitably and now, I have a common enemy in the Svartalfs with you and your realm." He held up his palms. "I am banished from Asgard and Jotunheim — I am forced to ally with Midgard."

"So then our only basis for actually trusting you is the fact that it suits you more to ally with us than to run away?"

"Ah, as quick a wit as all your fellow Midgardians," remarked Loki softly, tilting his head slightly as he studied Harry. "Was that the wit that saved you from this Voldemort? "

"Harry, why don't you come outside," Hermione didn't ask so much as order. Harry obeyed, sending Loki one last caustic look before following her outside. Once the doors shut, leaving them alone in the hallway, Harry rounded on Hermione.

"This is...a problem," he said wearily, his face crumpling. "Hermione, I can't do Legilimency — I just suck at it," he sighed. "But you're good at it, of course. And I can't ally with him without knowing we're not putting the entire human population at enormous risk."

"Legilimency is illegal," Hermione pointed out. Harry's lips twitched in sardonic amusement.

"At this point I will happily toss the rulebook out the window if it means we can deal with that man in there."

"...Alright. I'll do Legilimency," she sighed. "I'm just afraid of what I might find there," she confessed. Harry's expression went stony.

"Aren't we all?" he asked, though it was rather more a statement. "I'm not trusting anyone else with this task, Hermione. It's got to be you."

"I know, I know."

They began walking down the hall, and Hermione was relieved to put distance between Loki and Harry. Yet that relief was quickly replaced by a heavy dread as she contemplated how she could possibly accomplish Legilimency on slippery, clever, powerful Loki.

* * *

Hermione stood before Loki, her wand hand trembling.

"There's something I need to do," she began. "You'll need to hold still. Keep your eyes open, and on me," she ordered, toying with her wand.

She was afraid. Why did she always feel so much more acute fear when around Loki? Hermione had always, before, been able to overcome any lack of confidence, any hesitation, with action. Yet with Loki, she continued to feel on such uneven footing. Everything was fissured, everything was shadowed. She was afraid of how she would react to his thoughts as well. She didn't want to show any weakness in front of him.

Loki watched the witch's eyes carefully, looking for some sign of why she now seemed so reluctant. What was she planning on doing to him? Was she planning on putting him under some sort of spell that might force him to obey?

Loki rose to his feet, as Dr. Granger's eyes were riveted to his. Her lips were pressed in a thin line and again he was hit with that image of the life seeping from her. _Her lips would grow pale,_ he thought idly.

"Do you really think you can simply wave your wand and control me?" he whispered. Dr. Granger's jaw tensed; he saw the movement in the subtle shift of soft skin along her jaw. _Her skin would grow cold. _These thoughts were intoxicating and yet nauseating.

"That's not what I'm going to do, Loki. I promise this will not control you in any way. I'm just...looking for something," she said. He watched her throat flex as she swallowed, and the skin along his hands tingled with the thought of how that motion might feel, how the muscles of her throat would jump and tense as he squeezed his strong hands around it. He felt sickened yet frantic.

He raised his hand and gripped her chin. The skin was soft and warm; Dr. Granger froze. _She is just waiting to see what I will do, _he observed. He was not so foolish as to think he would not be attacked. Yet his fingertips moved along her jaw line in a manner similar to a caress He could feel her pulse. The warm hastened rhythmic throb was soothing yet revolting beneath his fingertips. She was so powerful, and yet, she was nothing more than blood, brain, and bounding heart — she was nothing more than human.

His hand moved down to her throat, his palm resting against her collarbone. Still she did nothing, her brown eyes fixed on him. She swallowed again and he felt the movement beneath his hands, and his thumb moved to the other side of her throat; now his hand nearly enclosed the front of her neck. Such soft, lovely, delicate skin... She looked so fragile, yet acted so strong.

She would break just like the rest of them.

His heart began to pound faster. This was the most control he had ever had over her; this was the most he had ever touched her.

"Doesn't it feel good — doesn't it feel satisfying?" he murmured, his grip tightening slightly. "You can just let me kill you, you can just let me possess you. You don't have to fight anymore. You can just simply submit."

He tightened his grip further. Something like arousal was unfurling in the pit of his belly, lighting his blood on fire. Dr. Granger's eyes were flashing. Quite suddenly, electrifying pain shot through him. He gasped and relinquished his hold, stumbling backward and hissing in pain.

"No, it doesn't feel good," she said acidly. "But it doesn't matter — I've gotten what I wanted." She held up three glass phials that suddenly appeared from nowhere. Dazed in pain, Loki could not stop her from pressing the tip of her wand to his temple. His head ached dully as a peculiar sensation, like tugging, occurred at his temple. He saw in his peripheral vision that she was pulling something silvery from him and placing it in the phials.

"What did you do," he groaned, still writhing in pain.

"While you were busy copping a feel and chatting, I was looking through your mind for evidence to show you would help us. And now, I've got proof. So, thank you, Loki. You have been unusually cooperative today."

She stepped back and stuffed the three phials in the pocket of her robe. "Oh, and if I were you, I would relax a bit. That spell can do quite a number on you if you aren't careful."

He fell onto the bed, curled in on himself in pain, as he heard the doors to his cell shut.


	7. Chapter 7

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: Yay! Nearing the end of this story. I wrote this chapter already, but then hated how it had been written and completely scrapped it. That's why this took so long 8D

You guys are awesome and your reviews mean the world to me, as do your thoughtful PMs. I can't thank you all enough :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: **gaaralover1989, Nelapsi, Zombie Reine, Shan84, ****Hermitt, ****LFuCkToY, BlackShirt16, Eternally Free, MeriLynelle, UnattainableDarkAngel, Guest, Mimo-Sene, DocteureCrane, Autumn1, eltseth, anticollision, schneebly, booklove44, Guest, mh21, KateT101, Guest, marana1, Lady Miya, and NorthernLights25. **

Disclaimer: the HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Seven.**

* * *

Hermione exploded from the prison cell, her mind a blur of thoughts that she could not hope to still. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she fell against the wall, the world spinning around her, as the doors slid shut, leaving her isolated in the hallway — and safe from Loki.

Safe.

It was a funny word, wasn't it? It was such a lie. That security that she gleaned from having two special and very fancy doors between her and Loki was utterly false, because both she and Loki could bypass them all too easily. Doors meant nothing to the both of them — neither was safe from the other.

Safe...

She had seen inside his mind; she had looked into those lovely eyes and seen that beautiful mind and the ugly thoughts which haunted it. The darkness glimmering in those sea-green eyes came from somewhere, and in casting _legilimens_ on Loki, she had gone directly to the source. And now in her pocket lay three phials bearing evidence of Loki's whims; of his turmoil; of his many, many changes of heart.

As she often experienced, Hermione was filled with too many thoughts and emotions to pick through. She pressed a clammy palm to her collarbone, precisely where Loki's hand had rested, before his elegant, talented fingers had slid so tantalizingly along her skin. In a daze, she mimicked the motion, as heat clenched in the pit of her belly. She drew in a sharp breath as her grip tightened, ever so slightly, just as his had.

The lines of electricity between them had been unmistakable. Hermione released her grip and fought against her aching lungs for air that would not come as her world continued to spin. How could she possibly ever go back to Ron when she had felt this?

...Not that she was so foolish to think that any kind of future, ever, was at all possible with Loki. As inviting and enticing as such a line of imagination was, it was a road futilely traveled, with only potential for heartbreak along the way. What a disappointment it was, for no one had ever brought her to life like this — no one. It went deeper than physical chemistry; it went to her very core of being. They were similar in all of the wrong ways, and that overlap, that friction, was bittersweet and delighting and terrible. Loki's darkness was consuming, and looking into his eyes and into his mind and heart, she had felt herself drawn in irresistibly.

How could any man, any mortal, ever compete with that?

The doors hissed and Hermione froze, still crumpled against the wall and floor. She heard the slow, leisurely tap of boots along tiled floor, and she tilted her head slightly. In her periphery, she saw a tall dark shadow, and both fear and anticipation seized her heart.

"What did you do to me?" His voice was quiet, even — but deadly. Hermione clutched at her jumper pockets, where the phials lay, protectively. He might wreak havoc on her senses but he would never get in the way of her mission.

"I took evidence of your loyalty to this mission so that I could prove to Harry and Kingsley that you are on our side," she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"And," he continued, as she heard the _tap tap_ of the boots resume, closing in on her, "what makes you think that after doing such a thing, I shall remain loyal?"

He was standing behind her; she could feel it. Her muscles tautened as she went rigid, staring straight ahead. She could hear the crinkle of leather and fabric, signaling that Loki was crouching behind her. His breath was hot against the nape of her neck.

"I can only pray at this point," she replied. He laughed dryly; she felt it against her neck and was stricken with the absurd desire to lean back, against him; into him.

"Pray to what, or whom? A god, perhaps?" He was laughing at her now. Hermione's grip tightened on her wand.

"Please," she tried now, desperately. "Please, stay loyal to us, Loki. We need you."

"Ah, and now, you are begging. You're nearly there, Dr. Granger..." His voice was like velvet against her skin. "You've nearly submitted to me. You're even kneeling."

"Would it make you happy, Loki? Would you truly be happier if I were to submit to you, fully?"

She heard the sharp intake of breath; knew she had finally affected him. "Because I really don't think you would be," she continued, gaining momentum, "I think you enjoy having a worthy opponent. And you can laugh and play and trick all you want, but you know we are evenly matched...and you love it."

She tensed again, running through a number of defensive spells she might use, but the anticipated attack never came. He merely gave another dry laugh.

"Perhaps you are right, Dr. Granger..." He leaned closer now, his lips unbearably close to the shell of her ear, "...but don't forget that I'm not the only one who loves it. I've seen you at night, I've seen your thoughts and deepest desires. We are evenly matched, Dr. Granger...the question is, can you handle it?"

Hermione slowly rose to her feet; she heard Loki doing the same.

"I suppose it remains to be seen," she replied levelly, turning to face him and brandishing her wand. Her eyes met his and her skin flushed with heat that she knew she must ignore. "I'll be back in a bit — I need to take these to Harry."

And, leaving Loki there, she turned on the spot.

* * *

Harry had been on his way to a meeting that he had called with all of the senior-level Aurors — all, that is, except for one. Approaching the elegant room in the Ministry that the Aurors used for these meetings, a familiar tall, lanky silhouette stood outside of the room, slouched against the wall and garbed in pristine official Auror robes, and at the sight, Harry paused in his tracks, as dread saturated him through completely.

_Hermione...damn it, Hermione... _His fist tightened on his scroll of notes that he wanted to mention during the meeting, crinkling the paper in his slightly sweaty grasp. He was on edge, and he didn't need this now. He would have thought that by this time, he would no longer have to choose between his two best friends — especially now that they were nearly married, for Merlin's sake — but clearly he would have been wrong.

Hermione's reticence about marrying Ron had not been helped by her sudden, partially-explained absence. Ron didn't take Hermione's devotion to her job so well, and would clearly see this as a slight against him.

_Then again, anyone would, _Harry acknowledged. He had noticed that Hermione's negligence had worsened in the past few years, and had only grown increasingly prominent at Molly and Ron's insistence that a wedding ceremony actually happen. Hermione never procrastinated on work or school, but she certainly did put off the tough decisions in her personal life. It was a bit insensitive, because it often hurt the people she loved, but Harry could certainly relate. He and Hermione were often more alike than other people might expect, and oftentimes, he could empathize with some of Hermione's choices, when others could not quite understand.

And knowing this, and knowing Hermione... Harry knew that deep down, Hermione was probably not interested in actually marrying Ron. Ginny had surmised this, and though Harry had never openly agreed with her, in his own heart he knew that Hermione and Ron were probably unlikely to ever actually tie the knot.

Now he saw his other best friend, standing there looking notably pathetic, and though his heart went out to Ron, he also was filled with frustration. _Why do I always have to be comforting one of them about the other? _It made him resent the both of them, and it wasn't fair — not to anyone involved.

With a deep, long-suffering sigh, Harry approached Ron. At his footsteps, Ron flinched, but did not look up, and looked as though he were trying very hard to pretend he hadn't yet noticed Harry. Sometimes Ron could be a bit theatrical in his moodiness.

"I didn't tell you about the meeting because Hermione doesn't want to risk you getting hurt. You're compromised, Ron," Harry said by way of greeting, his voice filled with more resignation and irritation than he could quite manage to hide. Ron looked up, gave a short 'oh, there's someone there' sort of look, but dropped the act abruptly when he saw Harry's face. His lips were twitching as though he were trying to stop himself from giving away too much of his feelings.

"Side with her, not with me. Cool, thanks, mate," he quipped coolly. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I don't have time for this right now. You can join the meeting if you want. Either leave or stay, but in any case, just remember that Hermione made this decision because she cares about you, and I chose to respect that decision."

"No, you just don't feel like opposing her," said Ron. Harry flinched. Perhaps there was more truth in that than he might like to admit. He pushed past Ron.

"Leave or stay, mate," he said shortly, before straightening his robes and striding into the room.

Ron trotted after him, to his credit, and took a seat in one of the plush chairs. Most of the team was already there, and Harry — who was still unaccustomed to all of this respect and leadership, in spite of it seemingly being the name of the game for him — tried not to shrink under their expectant stares.

"I have no idea how I'm going to begin to explain this one," he said to the room at large, fumbling with his notes. Just the thought of their current predicament was dizzying. If possible, the Svartalfs were an even bigger problem than Voldemort. Not only that, but they were using the help of a man who was, if Hermione was to be believed, just as much of a menace as Voldemort.

"Starts with the facts," said Ron helpfully. Harry shot him a grin, before clearing his throat.

Just before he could start, however, the door exploded open, revealing a more frazzled-looking than usual Hermione, with Kingsley at her heels. She hardly seemed to be aware of anyone else in the room, other than him, let alone Ron. Harry swallowed, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but Ron seemed stifled.

"Got it. Got the proof," she panted, holding up a number of phials.

"Er... I'll be right there," Harry said significantly, nodding to the room full of Aurors. Kingsley chuckled.

"I'll debrief them — you need to check this out, Potter," he consoled him, striding into the room. At once the Aurors rose, including Ron, and saluted Kingsley, who genially waved at them to sit back down. Hermione gave Harry an impatient sort of look, and Harry, entirely bemused, hastened out of the room and after Hermione.

* * *

After Dr. Granger had left, Loki had returned to his cell, and dropped onto the bed, still reeling from pain. He lay on the bed, eyes wide open but unseeing, as his heart rate slowly returned to normal and his breathing became regular again. The pain had been unimaginable — a searing, burning, ripping through his body. After such pain, he was in wonder that he remained in one piece, and that no wounds were visible. He had been positive he would have sustained wounds, yet now that the pain was gone, he could find no evidence that he had been wounded. And though the pain was gone, the memory of it was not. It had been torturous.

He wanted to hurt her back.

Loki sat up just as the doors slid open, though they revealed not Dr. Granger, but instead, Thor.

Thor looked weary and worn; there was a greyness to his skin and a dullness to the whites of his eyes that did not befit him. The doors slid shut, though Thor remained in his place, regarding Loki carefully.

"I have tried making the negotiations with the Jotuns, Loki. Everything is going according to plan so far." His voice was even, steady, just as his gaze was level and unflinching. "If you choose to trick us at so late a stage, be prepared for my wrath as well as Lady Granger's."

"I have no plans to go back on my word," parried Loki acidly. Thor's lips curled.

"You never gave your word in the first place," he pointed out. Loki swallowed over a lump forming in his throat. His brother was catching on to his ways, and he was gaining cleverness. It was potentially Jane Foster's doing. "I will not ask that you give your word, because I know it will be meaningless. I know I cannot best you in a battle of wits, Loki, and I will not try. There isn't enough time for that now."

"Father, with all of his strident diplomacy, lives on in you."

Thor flushed with anger but clenched his fists tightly before speaking. Loki tilted his head, eager to see how Thor might react to such a jibe.

"I've seen the way you look at her," he said now, in a low voice, approaching Loki. A shiver ran up Loki's spine. For one terrible moment, it had been like looking in a mirror, for he had seen so much of his trickery, so much of his duplicity, in his brother. "Loki, if you follow through with this — if you really help us to defend Midgard — then you could have her."

Loki rose to his feet, matching his brother in height now. Grey-green met cerulean blue as their gazes aligned.

"Using Midgardian women as a bargaining chip now? You've sunk so low, brother. Perhaps I was wrong when I thought I saw father's spirit in you."

A muscle in Thor's square jaw leapt.

"That is not what I meant. I mean that if you prove yourself trustworthy and useful in this mission, then you can stay here...and you can stay here with Lady Granger. I know it is what you want, and you have an easy way of getting to it."

"Or I could simply take her with me and leave Midgard to be attacked by Svartalfheim." At this, Thor looked like he might laugh.

"Take Lady Granger with you? No offense, brother, but I cannot really see you living through that — yes, even you. Besides, you have nowhere to go. You have lost the favor of all other realms. You are cornered; it is time you admitted that." He raised his blonde brows challengingly, reminding Loki poignantly of their petty arguments as little boys.

"Do not challenge me to find a loophole," he said softly, reveling in the murderous look filling Thor's eyes now.

"I am not challenging you — I'm warning you. You have plenty of motivation to play along this time, and every reason to not try to wriggle out of it. If you do back out, you face execution." Thor paused now, presumably for effect, and leaned in closer, lowering his voice as he spoke, "And if you stay...you increase your chances of a lifetime with Lady Granger."

Now Thor pulled away and turned, his red cloak swirling dramatically. How Loki longed to be returned his Asgardian clothes — how he favored their drama, their theatricality. The dull stoicism of the prisoner clothing he had been given was depressing. For one greedy moment, he envied Thor for everything, and then, tried to repress it as he watched Thor leave. His jealousy clouded his mind, made it too difficult to think. And without his thoughts, without his intellect, he was nothing.

He sat back on the bed, considering Thor's words. _And if you stay...you increase your chances of a lifetime with Lady Granger._

He did not want a lifetime with Dr. Granger — he only wanted the precise amount of time with her that it would take to taunt and then murder her. She had bested him, she had taken something from him. Loki pressed a hand to his head. What had she taken from him? How had she taken it?

So many emotions ran through him now. Respect for her abilities and cleverness was trumped by the humiliation of being so overturned by a mere Midgardian. Given his strange thoughts before she had hurt him, he recalled that part of the trouble was her dominance. Where others submitted so quickly to him, so willingly, Dr. Granger possessed a will of steel — she would not back down, she would not be trampled. She would never kneel, and she had proven that to him just before leaving his cell: just when he had thought he had gained control of the situation, she had bested him.

* * *

Harry fell back from the Pensieve, overcome with the nausea he always seemed to feel after looking into another person's thoughts. Grimly he brushed himself off, before looking to Hermione.

Hermione watched as Harry turned away from the Pensieve. Apparently he also found revisiting Loki's thoughts to be slightly sickening. Perhaps it was the pervasive feeling of depravity that accompanied even the most mundane of thoughts. On that note, there still remained a last, third phial in her jumper pocket. The weight of it on her was heavier than it should have been, and weighed her down like a stone. Subconsciously she reached into her pocket, running her fingers over the smooth, cold surface. Inside that phial contained the noxious thoughts which she wished to reexamine in private, if possible, though she was not sure she would have time for that anytime soon — in fact, she was unsure she would have time even to eat or use the loo.

The thoughts which she had taken from Loki were simply his intentions towards loyalty, and were not any terrifying or engrossing memories, but the essence of his heart seemed to pervade these thoughts, and she watched as Harry wearily massaged his temples.

"Well, it looks like he is solidly loyal," confirmed Harry after a moment. Hermione tensed, waiting for his reaction. Harry sighed, looking exhausted, and leaned his hip against the desk in his office. As always with Harry, the place was a complete mess, with scrap parchment and takeaway containers littering the floor and the desk. In a cage off to the side, an important-looking official Ministry owl, tawny as usual, perched, watching them with vague interest. Harry distractedly waved his wand, and the Pensieve was shunted back into the cabinet. He fixed his peculiar but lovely emerald eyes on her now, and though he had not yet spoken, she was filled with guilt at that expression.

"Don't," she sighed. Harry's jaw tightened.

"Hermione," he began tiredly, "I am fucking tired of playing referee for you and Ron. Work it out — if that means breaking up with him, then just rip the bloody bandaid off already."

"The mission —"

"Sod the damn mission. The mission is just another excuse."

Harry was right. Hermione bit her lip as tears sprang to her eyes, and she folded her arms defensively across her chest before turning away, slightly, and walking to the window. She could feel Harry's eyes on her the whole way.

"I don't know what to do. I don't want to marry him, but I don't want to leave him, either," she confessed, though this was, in part, a lie. At the moment, Loki consumed all corners of her mind. There was no room for Ron, or any mortal man, in her life right now. And she was not quite sure there ever would be.

"...Sorry. I shouldn't be pestering you about this now." Harry woodenly patted her shoulder as a means of comfort. "He's here, though, and he's a bit ...annoyed."

Hermione dropped her arms and drew in a deep breath.

"I should end it," she said resolutely, turning to him. Harry looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, do whatever you need to do," he said stiffly. Hermione broke into a smile, and threw her arms round Harry, who struggled back away from her, guffawing. The two friends laughed breathlessly before righting themselves.

Out in the corridor, Kingsley and Ron were making awkward, stilted conversation. When Harry opened the door, revealing Hermione, Ron's ears went pink, and he halted mid-sentence.

"They're ready," said Kingsley, nodding back towards the room with the senior-level Aurors.

"When can I take them to SHIELD to try out Loki Laufeyson's plan?" Harry's voice had gone businesslike and brusque. Forgetting herself for a moment, Hermione looked to Ron, and their eyes met, and they both sniggered at Big Man Harry before seeming to remember themselves and the terms on which they had last parted.

"As soon as possible. I don't want to drag this out too much longer," said Kingsley, his eyes briefly meeting Hermione's. Kingsley never did anything insignificant or by accident, and Hermione knew this was a gentle prod to get her mission moving. Discretely she nodded at him, showing she had understood.

Harry strode down the hall to give orders, and Kingsley returned to his own office, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the darkened corridor.

"I was thinking —" Hermione began, but Ron spoke at the same time. "No, you go," she gestured stiffly. Ron sighed and turned away.

"We should just call the engagement off." His voice was rough but plain. She stared in shock at his back. "I don't think either of us think it's worth fighting for anymore, and it's just...silly... to play like we have been making this work."

Unexpectedly, Hermione found tears streaming down her cheeks. When Ron turned to face her again, he too was crying silently.

"I j-just want to be be-best friends again with you," she confessed wetly, sniffling and wiping her nose on her jumper sleeve. Ron's mouth quivered; he seemed to be trying to stifle his own tears. He moved to hug her, and she leaned into his chest.

"I want that too," he whispered into her hair. "Really."

For longer than she knew, they stayed like that, swaying slightly as they held each other, both crying silently. For all of the years of fighting, of unhappy moments, of broken promises, and of tense silences, they had both been missing this unspoken camaraderie; they had both so dearly missed just being able to lean on each other in Harry's shadow.

She knew this was just the beginning; no breakup could be so simple. She knew she would soon be cringing, they would soon be tossing stinging retorts at each other, when it came time to actually separate and find different flats. But for now, she could just revel in the fact that this was why it was good to date one's best friend — because they cared for each other far too much to be cruel in such a difficult, penultimate moment.

* * *

When Hermione returned to SHIELD, ahead of Harry and the other Aurors, she went immediately to the training room. Natasha and Steve were there — as always, Steve was shirtless and oblivious to how delighted that would make anyone with an affinity for men, and was pummeling a punching bag relentlessly. Meanwhile, Natasha was practicing martial arts movements so fluid and feline that they hardly looked like they could possibly be intended to harm. It wasn't until Natasha looked up that Hermione spotted Clint in the steel beams in the roof, very cozily situated, and apparently toying with some rope.

"What's wrong," Natasha demanded as soon as she saw Hermione's face. Hermione rubbed at stray tears that had not yet dried.

"Boy problems," she muttered resignedly. Clint appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The only evidence that he hadn't Apparated was the swinging rope that he had dropped from, landing on his feet as silent and graceful as a cat.

"I've got a solution for that," he said with a grin, cocking his bow cheekily. Natasha rolled her eyes and cuffed him on the head affectionately. Hermione returned the grin a bit sheepishly.

"No, we can't shoot this one," she sighed. "I'm afraid shooting him would solve nothing."

Clint looked completely bemused.

"Shooting solves everything," he muttered dejectedly to himself. Effortlessly he climbed back up the rope, leaving Natasha and Hermione alone. Natasha had an uncharacteristically silly grin on her face which she quickly stifled.

"You alright?" She arched penciled brows at Hermione, and with a slight sniffle, Hermione nodded.

"Good. No time for boy problems right now," said Natasha grimly. "We've got to defend earth from the Fartelfs or whatever they're called."

Hermione burst into giggles and Natasha even cracked a smile.

"Thanks," she said. "Now I'm going to be thinking that when they do invade, and I'm going to be laughing at them."

"Who knows — they might not invade at all," said Natasha with a shrug. Suddenly, her expression turned grim. "Do you think Thor's got it under control?"

Hermione shrugged.

"You know him better than I do."

"True," Natasha said wryly. She lightly punched Hermione's arm. "Good luck. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks — I probably will."

Hermione turned and left the training facility, her eyelids weighed down with exhaustion. Agent Hill rounded the corner, clearly in a hurry.

"They're here, Dr. Granger," she greeted, slowing her pace when she reached Hermione. "Auror Potter and his team have arrived. Captain Fury has set up a designated area outside to prepare for the attack."

"And where is Loki?" Hermione asked as she fell into step alongside Agent Hill. She was always relieved to see the competent woman, and she felt slightly more secure when she knew Agent Hill was in charge.

"...It had been designated that you would contact and lead him to the training area," Agent Hill said a bit unsteadily, glancing at Hermione warily. Hermione shrugged.

"That's fine," she sighed. They came to Loki's prison now, and Agent Hill turned to Hermione.

"I'm rooting for you," she mumbled, before saluting Hermione and turning to face the hall. "I will wait out here and direct you and Loki to the training area."

"Thanks." Hermione was scanned and entered the prison. It was brightly lit, and Loki was sitting on his bed, waiting for her. "It's time," she greeted, coming to a stop him front of him. Loki looked up; from the light overhead, his eyes were shadowed, his forehead and cheekbones and nose highlighted. Hermione was struck with the notion that he must have a lovely skull; she shied away from the macabre thought as her stomach turned at how clearly she could imagine his skeleton. She did not put any stock in omens or premonitions, but it seemed rather telling that her subconscious could conjure such an acutely pictured morbid image. "Are you ready?"

"Are you?" Loki parried, rising to his feet and towering over her. Hermione thought of Ron's arms around her; she thought of his tears in her hair. As much as she mechanically moved towards Loki, attracted on a molecular level, so she remained in touch with the part of her that had loved Ron for so many years. That part of her was not so dominant, anymore, but it still existed — or at least, the ghost of it did.

"I've sacrificed so much for this moment," she began, "...and if you ruin it, if you betray us — you will not even live to regret it. I swear to you."

"I thought we established that we were evenly matched, Dr. Granger — that one cannot overpower the other."

"You haven't seen me angry," Hermione replied coolly. Loki arched a brow, looking amused.

"Perhaps you should have a chat with Dr. Banner about that — I hear he has quite a few effective anger management techniques."

"Ha ha. Now is not the time to be funny, Loki. Come on." She turned and walked towards the door; Loki was at her side, not following her.

_Please, _please_, let this work, _she thought in desperation, as her retina was scanned, allowing her to leave. The phial full of Loki's thoughts was heavy in her pocket, and gripped by a sudden, ridiculous urge, she turned to Loki. Their eyes met, and for once, his gaze was not filled with amusement, trickery, or antagonism.

"Midgard will be safe," he said quietly. "I know we can save it."

_We. _He was implying they were, in fact, a team — he was trying to reassure her. In spite of everything, he was attempting to comfort her. Again Hermione thought of the gold reflected in Thor's thoughts in the Pensieve. _This is the man he calls his brother. This is the man who loves Thor more than anyone in the world loves Thor, and this is the man that is loved by Thor as dearly as one brother can love another._

This was the man who could be redeemed.

Hermione swallowed over a lump forming in her throat.

"Yes, I believe we can," she replied unsteadily. The doors opened and Hermione and Loki walked through them, together.

* * *

The grounds on which they were set to prepare were, unfortunately, outside, in the snow. It was the middle of the night, and in the harsh, biting wind, Hermione and Loki met the Aurors. Everyone was so bundled up that they were unrecognizable, though Loki's helmet and heavy Asgard-made cloak had been returned to him. Regal as ever, he towered over the other men, his staff in hand.

"So? What's the plan?" someone, presumably Harry, called over the harsh winds. Loki's boots crunched on the ice and snow; he needed no bundling, and in the frosty air, his eyes began to turn red, the pallor of his skin nearly blue.

_That's right — he's part Jotun. He belongs in the frost, _Hermione recalled dimly, through the haze of feeling like she might freeze to death. He raised his staff, triumph radiating from him.

"I can feel it," he said in a low, thrilling voice. Hermione's heart was pounding.

"You can feel their magic?" she demanded eagerly. Loki didn't respond; he swung his staff, and a bolt of green magic shot towards a mound of snow, obliterating it completely.

_That's right,_ she thought in shock.

_Matter _can_ be destroyed. _

"It's gone," she said numbly. The Aurors were facing the spot where the mound of snow had been, looking as dubious as one can look in such low temperatures. "It's _gone,_" she repeated more loudly, as it truly hit her. She turned to Loki, nearly unable to breathe as she fully understood. She grasped Loki's arms, trembling with adrenaline. The blue faded from his skin; the blood red seeped from his eyes, leaving them sea-colored again._  
_

"With one blow, they will be gone," he confirmed, his eyes shadowed by his helmet and looking darker than ever. His pretty lips curved into a grin that flipped her stomach and set her aglow. It was a private, clandestine grin — it was a smile meant for her and her alone.

She could not bring herself to let go of him; she clung to him even as the snow stung her cheeks and eyes, she clung to him even as she knew it was not right, that she would pay for it later. She clung to this man, in hopes that she was clinging to the man who could be redeemed, in hopes that there _was_ a man who could be redeemed. She was sure she had spotted him; she was nearly positive that he was in her grasp now, held close to her by the lines of electric desire and understanding running a current between them.

The part of her that had loved and longed for Ron was a ghostly remnant; the part of her that wanted Loki was alive and all-consuming — it was everything of her, every fiber, every string in this universe and beyond, vibrating and singing to a single harmony, comprising realms of want and longing.


	8. Chapter 8

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: **Warning: this chapter contains mentions of non-consensual sex and other possible triggers. **There is nothing descriptive of it but I thought I should warn you all.

Thanks to all who reviewed last time: **anticollision, eltseth, ShimmeringWater, Autumn 1, liljennmartin, hateme101, Eternally Free, HGHpruepeeta, lizzywithfire, booklove44, Zombie Reine, rainstormlove, marana1, Lady Miya, MeriLynelle, Hermitt, UnattainableDarkAngel, Raychaell Dionzeros, patricia pc, moor, NorthernLights25, OceanLover101, and Lorem Tenebrae.**

Please review!

Disclaimer: the HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Eight.**

* * *

"Okay, let's see if you can do it again. Or, try something else," Hermione egged Loki on, releasing him from her grasp and feeling grateful for being so bundled up — it would hide her blush, at the very least. The Aurors were now shivering, and Ron approached her, as well as Harry, their posture stiff and tense.

"What are _we_ supposed to do?" Ron called over the wind. Harry was scowling at Ron.

"Did you not listen _at all _when Kingsley was debriefing you all?"

Ron looked bemused.

"Well, no," he said indignantly, as though the answer were obvious. Harry deflated slightly with a sigh, his breath clouding before his face.

"We don't have to do anything, Ron," he explained witheringly, "we are just here so that Loki Laufeyson can feed off of our magical energy."

Ron turned to Loki now, his blue eyes wide as he studied him. A flash of recognition glimmered in Loki's dark eyes, and icy fear settled in the pit of her belly, chilling her to the bone. _Oh god. _Loki knew that Hermione was — well, _had _been — seriously involved with Ron. What would he do now? How would he interact with him?

"So we're just supposed to hang around while you play, then," Ron confirmed, puffing out his chest a bit. Hermione fought against the urge to roll her eyes as Loki's brows arched in disbelief, disappearing into the helm of his helmet. He glanced at Hermione.

"It seems that the Midgardian's special Auror force is of unmatched intellect," he said derisively, his lip curling. Ron scowled.

"Excuse me? We're all doing this for you — you can't just insult us like that!" he exploded. The other Aurors were beginning to notice now, and were growing tired of shivering and shuffling their feet. With their necks craned, they began to migrate over to their little huddle, apparently pleased to have some sort of spectacle to observe as entertainment. Hermione was growing self-conscious. "This git reminds me of Snape," he sulked to Harry in a low voice. Loki met Hermione's eyes and tilted his head to the side questioningly. Harry looked like he was trying very hard to be professional.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I would appreciate it if you did not demean my Aurors," he said in a pinchedly cordial voice. He now turned to Hermione.

"What is our next step?"

"Practice some more, I suppose — then we have to be transported to the location that Fury picked out for our battle with the Svartalfs," Hermione replied a bit haplessly. With Harry and Ron's matching questioning looks, it reminded her strongly of their Hogwarts school days, and even of the Horcrux hunt, though perhaps at that time, Harry had been more frequently on the receiving end of the questioning, expectant looks than she had.

It was irritating, to _again_ be the person that everyone else turned to for answers, especially since she felt so out of her element right now. This mission had had no planning; she was so sleep-deprived that she was actually worried for her mental health and sanity; and they had so profoundly breached the International Statute of Secrecy that it was, at this point, completely laughable. Hermione, with all of her love and devotion to the rules, had tossed the rulebook out the window and was now 'winging it.' Perhaps she was turning into Harry — a both terrifying and flattering thought indeed.

"Well, let's get to it then," shivered Harry, clapping his hands together and stamping his feet to keep the blood moving. "Remember what Kingsley said," he added significantly. Hermione shot him a glower, but he had already turned away and was directing the rest of the Aurors into some special formation; only Ron was looking at both her and Loki now.

"So you're really a god, then?" His voice was reminiscent of a child on Christmas, his blue eyes twinkling excitedly. Hermione covered her face with her hands — she did not wish to see how Loki would look down his regal nose at Ron's boyish excitement.

"That depends," he began dryly, studying Ron. "We either believe in gods, after all, or we do not."

Hermione pulled her mittened hands away from her eyes in shock.

"That might be the most humble and reasonable thing you've ever said."

Loki sniggered and leaned towards her.

"Good thing I was jesting."

_Ugh. _Hermione made of a show of rolling her eyes, and without thinking of it, cuffed Loki on the arm.

"Very funny," she said patronizingly, "now get back to work."

A look of defiance flashed in Loki's eyes, but nevertheless, he began to survey the Aurors.

"Which one do you like the least?" he asked Ron, nodding to the Aurors. Ron looked thoughtful; Hermione hastily stepped in before Loki could demonstrate his grand Disappearing Act on any of Harry's employees.

"Not on Midgardians," she said loudly. Loki pouted, and instead, spun around and waved his staff. The stairs up to the door leading into the compound vanished as well. Hermione gazed at the empty space as her stomach turned. This meant that defeating the Svartalfs would be relatively easy, but... her gaze traveled to Loki, who stood a few feet before her, his back turned to her. In the outdoor flood lights, his helmet gleamed and in the frosty wind his cloaked swirled about him.

It hit her now: they should never have given Loki this much power.

She looked at him, really _looked_ at him, and the nausea rose in her throat. Loki did not have a history of doing as expected, or making the right, healthy choice. In fact, he had quite the reputation of making whatever choice was most destructive, both to himself and to the world around him. People could change, she knew that much — after all, one only had to look to Snape to see just how fluid and changeable a person's values could be — but more often than not, they tended to stay just as they always had been.

_Ron, you have no idea how insightful your comparison between Loki and Snape was, _she thought, turning to look back at Ron. He was chatting with Harry about something, and gesturing. Harry was laughing. It looked like Ron was imitating someone neither of them liked very much. _Typical. _Ron's perceptiveness often went unperceived by him — ironically. He saw people, he observed them, just well enough to imitate them and to make snap judgments on them, but he could not look deeper quite so easily. The rough, sketched understanding of the human experience that Ron had always possessed was a quality that had endeared him to her.

The stab of pain she felt when looking at him was unexpected. Watching him now, making Harry laugh, she was filled with guilt at how often she had dismissed him in their relationship. _I always felt so superior, _she recalled with shame. She had spent their life together thinking of herself as the captain of their relationship; she had thought of herself as the one in the lead. _I am so selfish, _she realized in disgust.

She felt eyes on her. Hermione glanced over her shoulder; Loki was watching her with shadowed, contemplative eyes. The desire, the need, that filled her at that look only furthered her guilt.

"I'm ready," Loki said, approaching her. "Fury should be alerted; we should prepare at the location."

Hermione's mouth had gone dry. The time had come; it was time to go to war with the Svartalfs. All of the questions, all of the insecurity — it all bubbled to the top. So many things could go wrong... So many people were depending on Loki's ability to make the right decision. She looked at the staff. Pointed in the wrong direction, that could end her — or anyone else — forever. There was no way to bring someone back from being literally destroyed — no, _erased. _Loki had the power to erase a human being, and deep down, she knew in her heart that he was not above such a monstrous act.

"Please cooperate," she murmured desperately, her eyes meeting his. At this point, she was not above begging, either. Loki's eyes were glittering with greed.

"And what would you be willing to give me, to ensure that I behave?" That silky, diaphanous, icy voice again: she knew she was in danger. He stepped closer, his boots crunching the snow beneath. She craned her neck to maintain eye contact with him, and the movement was not insignificant: Loki was now re-establishing his dominance over her. The rebellious streak in her seemed to brighten; she longed to show him who was _really _boss here. Her mittened hand closed around her wand.

"Depends," she replied. "What was it you wanted?"

The jokes and shouts of the Aurors faded away; they were alone in their own universe. Loki leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. He was so close that she could see his eyelashes, surprisingly long but lighter and more feathery than she might expect from a dark-haired man. It was another aspect of him that rendered him pretty in a way that was not at all feminine; it was another contradiction that existed in him.

"Let us not jest, Dr. Granger — we both know precisely what I want."

Hermione clenched her jaw; worked her teeth, gnashing them, trying to gain control of herself and of her emotions.

"I'm not sure we're on the same page," she said evenly, her fist closing and loosening over her wand rhythmically. Clutching the wand reminded her of her own agency, it reminded her of her own power. She had changed the world with that wand — alongside Harry and Ron, of course — and she could change it again.

"We are on the same page," Loki replied, his voice just as steady, calm, and even. "In fact, we are of the same ink that forms the letters that write the book. How can you possibly be unaware of my wishes when you have had the audacity — just as I would have — to rape my own mind and steal my thoughts for your own selfish motives?"

"I took those thoughts to prove your allegiance," Hermione hissed. The last phial, however, that was pressed snugly against her told a slightly different story. Loki's lips quirked.

"Are you quite sure? Are you positive that that is all you took?"

_To rape my own mind and steal my thoughts for your own selfish motives. _Hermione felt sick. She had always sensed the innate wrongness of Legilimency, and Loki, ever the silver-tongued man, had put precisely her oblique feelings on it into the perfect words. Legilimency was a form of rape, and she had done it with little inward struggle. She had taken what did not belong to her; she had taken what belonged to no one but the owner, and she had used force.

_We are of the same ink that forms the letters that write the book. _They were so the same — two sides of the same coin, reminiscent of Gryffindor and Slytherin. If Hermione were to look in the mirror of Erised, perhaps she would have seen Loki, and yet she would find her own reflection in him as well. Hermione acted in the name of 'righteousness' and Loki acted on his own whims, but from this angle she could see that, perhaps, righteousness was merely her own whims by another name.

It was sickening, like a blow to the stomach that had knocked the wind out of her. "That is what I thought," Loki confirmed, malicious glee glimmering intimately in his eyes.

"I didn't say either way," Hermione replied. "I still do not know what it is you wanted — and I'm not going to play some silly guessing game. Either tell me and I can see what I can do, or don't tell me. It's your choice."

Hermione turned away, gesturing for Harry. "We're ready. We ought to alert Fury and get ready."

Harry's expression had hardened, as had Ron's. They were both in Auror mode now, as was Hermione, for all intents and purposes. She had learned, through her various adventures with Harry, to push her own feelings and turmoil down, and lock them away. With Harry and Ron so close now, she was able to recall how to do that — and she did it. She steeled her own will, she turned away from Loki, both literally and emotionally.

He had given her much to think about — too much to think about now.

* * *

"Agent Hill will escort Loki Laufeyson and Dr. Granger to the site of the battle," Fury was saying, as he paced the conference room. Across the room, Hermione caught Agent Hill's eye and smiled gratefully. "Auror Potter has been given the coordinates, and he will escort his team there through side-along Apparition."

"Have we even heard from Thor yet?" Stark piped up. "This seems so...unsteady."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," snarked Natasha, rolling her eyes. "Fury, what do you need us to be doing?"

"Getting to that, Agent Romanoff. The Avengers will follow along with me — we will work on securing the perimeter and ensuring that Loki and Dr. Granger have everything under control." He paused now, regarding the room at large. "Thor believes that everything is going according to plan. The mole he planted in Jotunheim reports that the Svartalfs are planning to attack Earth within the next twenty-four hours. They will not be receiving assistance from the Jotuns, but they will not be receiving condemnation for it either."

"How is Thor going to lure them to our spot, though?" Steve wondered, voicing the question haunting everyone's mind. Hermione sensed Loki shifting slightly.

"He will probably tell them I am there," he said.

The room went silent; no one moved or said a word as everyone stared at Loki in surprise. He was chained now, mostly to comfort the others that he could not attack them, but of course that was a lie. Hermione raised her brows at Loki. "I made myself an enemy of Svartalfheim — and if they believe I am allied with Midgard, they will come for me first so that I cannot defend Midgard against them."

"You had damn well better be sure that this will work, Loki," Fury said now, his voice burning acid. Respect for Fury and his intensity and passion for his job warmed Hermione as she watched him turn his dark eye on Loki. A lesser man would have shrunk under that gaze, but Loki was not a lesser man — Loki was a god. He bloomed in the face of mortal defiance, and the smirk that curved his lips proved just that.

"At least if it doesn't work, you can rest assured with the knowledge that none of us will be alive to tell the tale, Captain Fury," he said smugly. "Because if it does not work, we are all dead anyway." Rage bloomed in Fury's face, and in a cutting voice, he ordered for Loki to be escorted to the helicopter that would take them there. On the way out, Loki laughed — a full-on laugh, his head thrown back, as though someone had told an amusing but raunchy joke at the dinner table. Even after the door shut, Loki's laugh echoed in her mind.

All eyes were on Hermione now.

"I've put a lot of trust in you, Dr. Granger, with little to go on," began Fury. Harry stepped in, looking thunderous.

"With little to go on? Hermione is the smartest person I've ever known, and with all due respect, I'd like to remind you of—"

"Smart isn't always enough, Potter. I know all about your Lord Voldemort, but no offense — this is on a different scale," Fury interrupted swiftly. Harry flushed with anger, but Hermione clasped him on the shoulder.

"He's right, Harry. This is different than Voldemort," she said gently. "But thanks," she added with a smile. Harry reluctantly returned the smile and Hermione gave his shoulder a last squeeze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron's face, set into a grimace and directed at Fury. The implied friendship was such a boost that she felt braver, more steady. "I agree, Fury — and I respect you for showing so much trust in me. If I were in your position, I would not have been able to do the same thing, I'm afraid. I know this is difficult, but we are doing everything we can to ensure this is pulled off."

Fury did not soften at her words, but she knew she had done everything she could.

"We need to move out, Captain," said Agent Hill now, stepping forward. Fury let out a short huff.

"Fine. Escort Dr. Granger to the launch pad, Hill," he quipped.

Hermione walked with Agent Hill in silence to the launch pad as a knot of dread tightened in her chest, rendering it difficult to breathe. For one bright, glorious moment, she had truly thought she had gained control of Loki — she had felt calm and secure. Now she could see it had been one of Loki's clever illusions, and she was no more in control than she had been before — in fact, the balance had tipped in Loki's favor.

_Not just tipped in his favor, _she thought wryly, _he smashed the bloody scale. _

"Do you believe Loki will do the right thing?" Agent Hill turned to Hermione, leaning in privately, as they reached the door to the launch pad. Hermione grimaced. She had wanted to keep up the facade of seeming confident in Loki, but she knew Agent Hill was too clever, too perceptive, to be fooled. _I'm not much of an actor anyway. _She never had been.

"I honestly have no idea. The only thing in our favor is that if the Svartalfs destroy us, Loki will have nowhere else to go." She sighed now. She was so, _so _tired. The lights felt too bright and twinkly; shapes moved in her periphery, though closer examination revealed them to be nothing but figments of her imagination. Her hands trembled and every noise seemed too loud, too harsh, yet speech sounded as though heard from underwater.

She wasn't sure she could do this in the best of circumstances, but it was looking more and more like they were in the worst-case scenario. "But I have no better ideas of how to defend us," she added in resignation. Agent Hill seemed to be lost in thought.

"For ten years now, I've worked with SHIELD," she began, "and I have been privy to, literally, entire _worlds _of information that most people can only imagine or read about in sci-fi novels. It was always the best part of my job — to find out that all that stuff I always loved to read about in my comics or that I would draw in my notebook, to find out it was all real." She paused now, looking desperate. "Even meeting Loki and Thor, however disastrous, was still exciting. But this... it almost makes me wish I had just stuck to a normal criminal justice degree, worked in the DA's office, you know...the normal, boring track."

That struck a chord in Hermione.

"I wasn't born to a magical family, you know," she replied. "I can completely empathize with you. I was thrust into the Wizarding world at age ten, and I loved it, because I finally had found a place I stood out. But there have been times where I wonder...what if I had never gotten that letter? What if I had stayed in London, with my parents, and gone to the school there like every other Muggle girl..." She drew in a deep breath. "But we were meant for this, Agent Hill — I truly believe we both would have found our way to this point, no matter the path chosen."

"Yes, I think that too," Agent Hill agreed, unlocking the door. "I hope when all of this is over — if it ends well — we can stay in touch."

"Me too," said Hermione eagerly. They went up to the launch pad; an enormous helicopter was awaiting them. Judging by the guards stationed around and inside of the chopper with various and sundry weapons that Hermione didn't even want to understand, Loki was restrained inside. "Well, here goes," she said, to brace each of them. But Agent Hill was already striding towards the helicopter, flashing an ID badge at the men. Hermione scampered after her, amazed at how quickly Agent Hill could return to business.

Indeed, in elaborate restraints, Loki was waiting for them within the helicopter, a grin curving his lips as one of the soldiers boosted her into the helicopter. Her face flushed at having to be helped into the helicopter, but she had to dismiss that for now. Maybe after this was all over — _if it ends well, _as Agent Hill had said — she would ask Natasha to help her train her upper body so she wouldn't need so much help. She was always the girl who couldn't lift the heavy box, who couldn't climb gracefully up something. Luckily magic had helped to mask her clumsiness and lack of athleticism, but magic could not, as it turned out, fix or hide everything.

"Are you ready?" she asked after buckling up, the enormous padded headphones still resting around her neck. Loki chuckled, a deep, rumbling laughter from his throat. It was almost a sensuous, erotic sound — or maybe her sleep deprivation and stress really were doing her mind in once and for all. Either way, a little thrill of anticipation fluttered in Hermione.

"Yes," she said coolly, as she made a show of setting her headphones in place over her ears. They were bulky and uncomfortable, pulling on the cartilage of her ears and making her skin sticky and clammy with sweat. To her surprise, even Loki had been given a pair, and he even took off his precious helmet. _Well, Agent Hill is on the line as well, so at least he can't torment me this way, _she reassured herself.

"Are you scared, Loki?" she asked, the microphone crackling a bit with static. She wondered if Agent Hill were listening, or if she were too intent on piloting the helicopter. _Probably both, and somehow taking notes on our conversation at the same time, _she thought ruefully. She met Loki's eyes, searching for some flicker of fear. "Or have you fought so many battles that were on the cusp of determining an entire realm's fate that this is nothing?" Her voice dripped with derision. Loki's lips quirked.

"The latter," he quipped. Though his voice was tinny and distant, it retained all of its wit, all of its velvety quality. Hermione swallowed. "For Midgard this is the moment that will determine everything — but for the other realms, it is just another moment in time." He paused, a sympathetic look crossing his face, and Hermione braced herself for a remark that was sure to make her angry. Loki did not disappoint: "I understand it can be hard for Midgardians, to be faced with the evidence of their helplessness, of their insignificance in the universe. Especially since you all place so much importance in yourselves — coming up with gods to create you, gods who exist solely to preside over your welfare... This must come as a shock."

"Does it come as a shock to you to realize you need the help of twenty poor, pathetic, submissive Midgardians to defend against a bunch of elves?" Hermione asked dryly. She was positive she heard a feminine snigger that sounded suspiciously like Agent Hill listening in, but she couldn't be sure.

"They are my army," he said simply. "Of course it is not a shock. Every great ruler has been in possession of a great army."

His words, his tone — they chilled her. He said it with such confidence, and belatedly she reminded herself that Loki had grown up with a throne — of an entire _universe — _just within his grasp. If Thor had died before coming of age, presumably Loki would have taken the throne, as Odin's other son. The man was accustomed to thinking in terms of rulers, armies, battles, and ...conquests.

She turned away, bracing herself on the arm of her chair, and stared out the window, into snowy darkness. They were going north, further and further north, away from inhabitable lands and to a location where the rest of Midgard would, hopefully, be safe. The fear was beginning to overtake her, like waves washing repeatedly over her head, suffocating her, and drowning her. Her fingers dug into the leather of the seat as she began to inhale deeply through her nose, in a weak effort to calm herself. She could not begin to imagine what the Svartalfs might look like; what they might bring to help them defeat Earth; how many of them there might be...

_No no no I don't want to do this. _She longed to be sent home, to suddenly be overtaken with illness and unable to complete the mission. Logically she knew there was no way out — she had chosen this path, just as she and Agent Hill had discussed. But why had she chosen this? So often in her life, and in her career, she came to this point of being on the verge of diving into another life-threatening situation — usually following closely on Harry's heels into said danger. Every time, she would be sick with fear and wonder why the _bloody hell _she had _chosen_ this for herself. And then, every time when she succeeded, she would conveniently forget all of that fear, and just dive right back into it again.

And yes, it had occurred to her that, someday, there would be no opportunity to forget the fear, to bask in the glory of success — because someday, she would not succeed. She would fail, and she would be dead.

...What if that day were today? She was dizzy. She thought of Ron's sweet blue eyes, of his lips and his freckles, and she was disgusted with her own selfishness as she realized he had also been worrying for her, every single time. Ron was so good to her and Harry, but at the end of the day, he wanted to be sitting on the sofa with a butterbeer, kicking back and relaxing.

He deserved someone who could do that. She was not that person.

How obvious it all seemed now! How clear it was, how wrong for each other they had always been. She could never make a man like Ron happy, because she would never be truly content to kick back and sip her butterbeer and watch the rest of the world scurry about, trying to mend things. She wanted to be the one to fix things, and even though she was sick with fear, she knew there was no other option for her. This was her life, and she had chosen to give it to others. Put another, less flattering way: this was her life, and she had chosen to not give it to Ron.

She must have known all of this, deep down, so why had she never acknowledged it? Why had she never admitted, both to him and to herself, that they could not go on like this? She had been so selfish, and so cowardly in the very worst of ways: she had cajoled herself by reminding herself of the glorious, brave acts she had done in the past eighteen years, but the truth was that she had simply too scared of confronting Ron to actually break down and do it.

_I am a coward. _She said these words in her mind, let her tongue taste them, let her heart shrink back at them. _I am a coward. _Her eyes were beginning to sting with tears. She despised herself. She could not stand to be in her own skin. Her mind was torturing her, by showing her flashes of images of Ron at his best: smiling, laughing, making a silly but, in truth, quite funny remark. Each flash of these was a stab wound to her heart.

She wanted to get out; she longed to claw out of her skin. _I am a selfish coward. _Did everyone think of her this way? Did everyone in front of her congratulate her for her deeds, then whisper of her despicableness when she had turned? Furiously she wiped at her eyes. _It would be better if I did fail in this mission, it would be better if I did die. _Because if she were to die, at least she would not have to wonder these hideous thoughts about herself.

"Got something in your eye?" Loki's voice was surprisingly gentle. Hermione blinked, sniffled, and turned back to him to roll her eyes.

"Allergies," she said shortly. Loki arched his brows and nodded towards the window to the dark mass of snow and ice below them.

"Yes, that pollen — it can really get you up here in the glaciers," he said sympathetically. Hermione considered hitting him, but their seats were placed just out of arm's reach. Instead she slumped down in her seat, her knees folded up, and curled in on herself. Loki's words from before came back to her now: _To rape my own mind and steal my thoughts for your own selfish motives. _So not only was she selfish and cowardly, but she was ruthless and heartless as well.

Loki watched Dr. Granger disappear into herself. He was struck with a ridiculous thought: at this moment, Dr. Granger reminded him strongly of Thor — specifically, Thor before an important banquet or battle. Thor always hid his true feelings behind a facade of bravado and (somewhat embarrassing) displays of masculinity. Everyone had always believed him, but Loki knew Thor better than anyone — and he had not been fooled.

And so, alone together, before each of these events, Loki would cautiously, patiently, tease the dark and uncomfortable thoughts out of Thor's mind and heart. Thor's confidence would take a sharp plummet; he would begin to fret and worry. Even at his worst, of course, it was barely visible on him. Everyone thought him a perpetually sunny, laughing man. Loki knew better. He would coax it out of Thor, get him to confess his worries. And then, ever the silver tongue, he would soothe Thor and spread balm on his heart.

What an odd experience it always had been. At these times, Loki had been struck by both a staggering, tender, brotherly love — yet simultaneously filled with a jealousy and envy as sharp and reflective as a diamond, mirroring his own deeper inadequacies in all of Thor's gleaming facets. He would feel both smug for being the only one to calm Thor yet enraged that he, of such superior intellect, was always getting pushed off to the wayside. It was a sick combination, and it made him crave the sort of understanding and empathy that he had given to Thor, who could never return it quite so eloquently. Thor's heart was bottomless, his love unconditional; but it was at a price: he simply missed too much. He did not realize the secrets of Loki's heart; he did not know to comfort him.

Yet even in her resemblance to Thor, he was inexplicably reminded of himself, in Dr. Granger. In the set of her jaw, the dim resignation coloring her eyes, he saw his own self-loathing mirrored in her. It took his breath away. He did not know that such a self-righteous and strident person as Dr. Granger could dislike herself so profoundly, yet here it was, so clearly. Perhaps others might have assumed she was tired, or anxious about the battle, but he was Loki — he knew the truth.

This was simply another thread of desire and understanding that seemed to connect them inextricably like a strand of silken, barely visible spidersilk.

He wanted her.

He wanted to know her deepest secrets; he wanted to consume her every thought. He wanted to fill all clandestine corners of her mind with flames of want; he wanted her to think of him, and only him. He wanted her to belong to him — not to submit to him, no. Her rebellion and defiance were what made them equals, and that was what made him want her so. He wanted to know why she was filled with such self-loathing, and he wanted her to know his own pain, as well. He wanted there to be no other man, because there simply could not be another man for her — there could only exist him in her universe.

She had chased him across realms, under the guise of her 'mission' but he knew better: she had chased him because they were drawn to each other, because they could not resist each other's pull.

Yet he had tried simply taking her, and it had not been satisfying: she had tried to wriggle from his grasp and succeeded. He wanted her to come willingly; he wanted her to _want_ to become his.

"Why are you staring at me?" she demanded snappishly. Loki's mouth went dry. Unlike Thor, she would not be so easily soothed with gentle words and a sweet smile. Dr. Granger was like him — she knew better. She was too clever to fall for that, she was too perceptive.

"I am trying to read you," he replied honestly. Her brown eyes, pretty brown eyes which were dulled with exhaustion and shot through with red, widened slightly at the admission. "You look familiar to me."

"Well I should, as we have chased each other practically across the universe at this point," she retorted sarcastically.

"No, I mean, you remind me of myself."

Dr. Granger felt the top of her head theatrically.

"Sorry, just checking for horns."

"I see you are a bit of a jester when you are tired, scared, and filled with self-hatred," he said coolly. A muscle in her fine, soft jaw leapt as she ground her teeth. Perhaps to mask any surprise at his correctness.

"Sorry if I haven't spent my life charging into battles with special hammers and swords," she said in a shrill voice. "Honestly, I am best at my desk, sifting through a nice big book."

"Yet you seem drawn to battle — perhaps you crave it," he suggested lightly. "After all, was it not you who stood alongside your brave, brave friend Harry Potter and defeated Lord Voldemort?"

"I did it because it had to be done," she said matter-of-factly, though he sensed he had hit a nerve. _Good. _He wanted to draw it out of her, he wanted to _see_ her as she truly was.

"Were you just as scared then?"

"Of course I was — we didn't think it would ever work, and then I began to realize that there was no logical way Harry could survive. It was all in the prophecy, and really, his connection to the other Horcruxes seemed so peculiar," she rambled now. He had no idea of what she was talking about. She hardly seemed to be aware of him at all. "And here I am, charging right back into another _hopeless_ situation, never giving a thought to any of the people close to me who might suffer from my decisions." Her voice heightened in pitch; she was growing hysterical as she pulled at her hair.

Loki dimly wondered what Agent Hill might be thinking of all of this drama, but he cast the thought aside. Dr. Granger was too enrapturing. He could not tear his eyes from her. "You're right, you know — I _am _selfish, I do things to suit my own needs and serve my own purposes."

"And not every single being across all of the realms does that?"

"Not on this scale! You are right — I took thoughts from you that I had no right to take; I just wanted something and I took it. I do these things all the time. I have this horrible, horrible vicious streak that just comes to life and I do things that I hate myself for later on." She paused now, her eyes wet and chest heaving as she gasped for air. "I think it is because, deep down, I genuinely, sub-consciously, consider myself superior to those around me." She breathed this last part as though it were ground-breaking.

"But you _are_ superior to those around you," he pointed out, amusement still lacing his voice. Dr. Granger shook her head.

"Even if I am," she began in a teary voice, and Loki resisted the urge to laugh, "that gives me no right to behave the way I do. And I'm sorry, I really, really am."

Their eyes met. Loki surveyed her, he regarded the way she held herself.

She would make a fine queen.

The thought stung him, because it had surprised him. He rarely thought of the throne as a possibility for him, but every now and then, those traitorous thoughts taunted him. He looked at her, with her wild, untamed hair, and could all too easily see the golden thread-like tiara that Frigga had always worn, entangled in those thick locks. Her fine bone structure, her innate self-confidence — she would look so proper, so _right,_ seated on that throne, at his side, her elegant but feminine body swathed in the graceful, silky, white robes that queens of Asgard so favored. The gold would bring out the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, and she would look so regal, would radiate such power.

"This is Agent Hill. Dr. Granger, Loki — we will arrive at the location in minus three minutes. Prepare for descent."

They both jumped slightly; they had each forgotten that Agent Hill had been listening. Hermione felt even more nauseated at the thought of someone overhearing such a personal conversation — especially one with Loki, of all people. She busied herself with securing her belt and headset, and stared out the window as the snowy, dark, treacherous ground approached.

This was it. It was time.

The landing was bumpy; and then, all too soon, everything was happening too fast. Agents and Aurors were pulling her down out of the helicopter. Harry was directing the Aurors, and now that the headset was off, everything was shockingly loud, as though she had been rudely awoken. The whirr of the helicopter and the howl of the wind and snow nearly masked the yells of the agents and Aurors. Hermione took a moment to steel herself, and drew her wand.

_I may be selfish and ruthless and cowardly, _she thought as she surveyed the scene before her, _but I have given my life to fighting, to saving, to mending. _This was what she was meant to do, and since she was meant to do it, she might as well do the thing right.

With a blast of lightning and a bark of thunder, Thor appeared, having teleported from the Bifrost, and bringing with him his own troops. This time he did not wave jovially at her, nor flash them all a goofy grin. He was in ruler mode now.

"The Svartalfs will attack at any moment. We have lured them here, using Loki as bait," Thor explained at he approached, nearly rendered invisible due to the prevailing snow. He turned to Loki now; Hermione had not realized he had been standing by her. "I cannot believe I am saying this, brother, but for once I am glad that you have made such a mess of things. They will want to finish you off first."

His lips, fuller than Loki's, spread into a grin as he cuffed Loki on the shoulder with one hand, sliding his own helmet on with the other. "Just like old times, eh?"

"Perhaps," Loki yielded, brandishing his staff, "but I think, in truth, not quite. As I recall, you were always the one we were rescuing from trouble."

For one strange moment, Thor's eyes grew wet with emotion, but he fiercely blinked and threw his head back in a laugh.

"Ah, you are right. How does it feel to be the troublemaker this time?"

Loki set his own helmet atop his black hair; it cast his fine, patrician features in shadow.

"Brother," he began, his voice dripping with condescension, "I have _always_ been the troublemaker."

"This is great chit chat and all, but don't we have some evil elves to be preparing for?" Stark cut in, nearly covered in his Iron Man suit. He turned to Hermione, arching his brows impatiently. Hermione held up her wand.

"I will cast a Disillusionment Charm over —"

"Spare me the details, Dr. Granger. Just do your thing," said Stark, waving his hand. The visor slid in place, and with a rather alarming _blast_, he set off. Hermione turned to Loki and Thor.

"Like I was saying," she began a bit irritably, "I am going to cast a spell to render you, your men, and Harry and the Aurors invisible," she explained. "This way, when the Svartalfs arrive, they will not be distracted and will not try to take out the others first."

"Excellent thinking, Lady Granger," said Thor, beaming. "I'm so relieved you're here." Loki looked like he was mentally making retching sounds at his brother, judging by the downward curve of his lips. _Oh, grow up, Loki, _Hermione thought with a mental roll of her eyes to go along with Loki's probable mental retching.

"Thank you, Thor," she said significantly. "Now, let's get to work."

It was all done in a matter of minutes: the Aurors were masked, as was Hermione. It was a strange thought, that she was not standing there, visible, alongside Loki. Crouched by a snowbank, she repeatedly cast Warming Charms for herself and the Aurors around her. She knew Harry was crouched nearby, as was Ron, and though the thought was comforting, she despised seeing Loki there, looking so alone and lost.

"When is it going to happen?" Harry hissed behind her. Hermione rolled her eyes. The notion of whispering in the middle of a gigantic snowstorm while waiting for aliens to arrive just seemed too absurd to comprehend.

"Why don't we find out together?" she snapped patronizingly. She felt sick again; she was sick with nerves, she wanted it to just be _over _and yet —

Her thoughts were cut short when suddenly, the sky flashed, as though for one moment it had become daylight; then all was dark, and the snow grew thicker, heavier, until (had she been visible) Hermione would not have been able to see her hand in front of her. She and all of the other Aurors cast various shielding charms over everyone, but nothing seemed to hold.

It was like their magic was broken.

There came a blood-curdling scream; it was unmistakably Loki's voice. The pure anguish and pain within that scream had rattled her bones and shaken her heart. She could not seem to breathe properly. Terror seized Hermione and she bolted to her feet and began tearing through the snow in the direction that she was nearly positive that Loki had been.

"Loki!" she shrieked over the howling winds, "where are you?" She clutched her wand even though it seemed that her magic was not working. Deep down, in her heart, she knew the truth.

The Svartalfs had arrived.


	9. Chapter 9

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, guys. I am PARTIALLY using the comic description of Malekith (which Christopher Eccleston will be playing in the next Thor movie! W00t w00t!) in this chapter.

Also, there will be at least one more chapter after this, plus an epilogue. Enjoy, kiddies!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: **Jaguar Garfield, Cihsegin, KateT101, Sonea22, ****M. Sheldon, ****Hermitt, Zombie Reine, ****moor, ****eltseth, ****anticollision, gaaralover1989, ****UnattainableDarkAngel, ****Iris Musica, Lady Miya, Ozzymandius, sweets1111, BlackShirt16, Fiane, liljennmartin, Eternally Free, mh21, Kirtash R, Raychaell Dionzeros, Autumn 1, DocteureCrane, Lorem tenebrae, booklove44, marana1, and Mariico.**

Disclaimer: The HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Nine.**

* * *

Malekith materialized into being on Midgard, the snow stinging his leathery skin. He breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of the snow. There was nothing quite like snow on Midgard — yes, Jotunheim had snow, but it simply was not the same. He had not visited Midgard since his childhood, and the memories of visiting with his father, the former king of Svartalfheim, now swirled about him amongst the snow. The troops he had brought with him appeared around him, dotting the landscape. Off in the distance, the sounds of the Midgardians preparing for battle could be heard. _Ah, so they've brought some of their magical Midgardians... _The air was thick with Midgardian magic; it was inside his pores, practically. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

But where was his prize...? Malekith closed his eyes, letting himself soak in the Midgardian magic, as he searched for what he was really looking for. Then: a flicker. _Ah. There it is. _

A sneer curled his lips as Malekith raised his hands, watching the snow thicken around him until his hands had disappeared.

"Attack!"

* * *

"Loki, where are you?"

It was, unmistakably, Hermione's voice. Ron had grown up hearing that voice, had grown up imagining that voice saying all sorts of things; and it was a voice that belonged to one of the people he loved the most in the entire world. Just hearing it so filled with distress caused him to tense up. It reminded Ron of the Horcrux hunting days — when he'd flicked the Deluminator and had heard Hermione's voice... Like an invisible cord it had lured him — no, _pulled_ him — to her and Harry...but mostly, to her.

And that voice, so helpless, so filled with need, was calling another man's name right now.

Ron rose out of his crouch, straightening up, squinting in the snow. Nothing was visible; he couldn't see his own hands in front of him, let alone Harry or the other Aurors. He felt totally alone, totally isolated — worse yet, it didn't seem like any of his spells were taking hold. He tried casting Hermione's specialty: blue fire that could be picked up, but it didn't work. He felt useless, alone, and terrified.

Something, obviously, had gone _really _wrong.

The scream that had preceded Hermione calling for Loki had been a man's voice; it had been so filled with anguish and terror that it had chilled Ron to his bones. It had been like a death rattle, a noise signifying a painful death. He felt sick and scared and he just wanted to be at home, curled up in his and Hermione's flat, holding her close and keeping her safe.

_But you've lost her_, he reminded himself, fiercely wiping at his eyes. He knew that he and Hermione were over for good, and he knew it was for the best — but that didn't mean that he wasn't in unimaginable pain. He hated endings, and this was an ending if there ever had been one. And now, with this battle, he might lose her completely — she might get killed.

He couldn't let that happen.

Over the past few years in their relationship, he had sensed the tip of the scales; he had felt the distance between them grow, with rough, unbridgable, and infinite seas. They were alone side-by-side — they were broken together. They had had sex so rarely that it was strange and surprising when it did happen. The space between them in their bed had seemed eternal and solid, filled with years and years and years of resentment and disappointment. Within the last few months, he had come upon the disturbing realization that the thought of her, simply the thought of Hermione, no longer aroused him. Once upon a time, just thinking of her tugging her shirt off was enough. They had lost that feeling, and deep down he knew that too much had gone wrong for them to ever _really_ get it back.

It was so sad that it caused him physical pain. He wasn't ready to be on the battlefield, while these thoughts haunted him. He couldn't concentrate. Everything seemed horrible, everything seemed wrong. He and Hermione couldn't make things work, but not being with her seemed so ill-fitting and just plain _weird_. It seemed he had always either been wanting Hermione or been with Hermione — so had been the way ever since he was ten years old. Now, he was nearly thirty, and he had lived longer than he hadn't with Hermione filling up his heart.

He couldn't imagine his life now, without her in it, in any romantic sense.

"Hermione," he bellowed, attempting to light the way with his wand. Again it did not work. "Hermione!" he screamed again, at the top of his lungs. The snow was stinging his eyes.

He began to walk towards where he thought he may have heard her, but he couldn't be sure. There was no way to determine his direction because he had no reference points in this world of endless white.

He heard another scream — a shrill, feminine shriek — and without a second thought, he began tearing through the snow.

* * *

It was jarring, to hear one's own voice and not have it come from oneself. Loki froze, his muscles tensed and ready, as he narrowed his eyes in a pointless attempt to see through the driving snow.

Without a doubt, Loki knew that Malekith had arrived.

"Loki, where are you?" Dr. Granger called distantly, desperately, her voice muffled by the wind and snow. A nausea, a pure self-hatred, overtook Loki. He had not expected to feel so terrible at Malekith's arrival. He knew that Malekith had been watching, and he knew now, the thought settling like lead in his belly, that Malekith would hurt Dr. Granger.

He pictured her lying in the virgin snow, her blood splattered about her lifeless form, her legs jumbled in an unnatural position. The snow would gather in her hair, in her coat.

If he ran now, he could save himself.

But could he live with knowing that image was a reality?

"Hermione!" the Midgardian boy that Dr. Granger had been with cried at the top of his lungs, somewhere in the distance. "Hermione!"

_He heard it too. He's going after her, _Loki surmised. He brandished his staff. He thought of his brother's words. _A lifetime with Lady Granger. _If he ran now, Dr. Granger would not have a lifetime. Undoubtedly, she would die, because one Midgardian — no matter how special, no matter how powerful — could not overpower Malekith without help.

No one else could save her. If he saved her now, she would be indebted to him forever — and she would be alive to repay the debt. She would owe him her life, and Dr. Granger, with her twisted but strident moral compass, would dedicate herself to repaying him. Finally, she would belong to him completely.

"Prince Loki... Hanging back as always, watching the battle, looking for advantages, deciding whether to flee..." A silvery voice whispered in his ear. Loki's grip on his staff tightened as a smirk curved his lips.

"Malekith," he began, and turned to face his foe, "so we meet again, old friend."

* * *

_Think, _she urged herself. _Draw in deep breaths, do not lose your head, and _think_! _She found herself thinking of Harry — what would he do, if he were in her place? She could ask him, but she knew his protective instincts would kick in, and he would try to save the day — a feat she was not sure was possible right now.

_Well, he wouldn't be standing here thinking — he'd be _doing_ something. _Hermione tried a few nonverbal spells, so as to not give away her position by creating noise, but nothing happened. _The Svartalfs must know how to manipulate magic here, _she thought with a lurch of her stomach. She squinted through the snow, but to no avail — since Loki's scream, she had neither seen nor heard anyone else.

She felt crippled; she was handicapped. Without her magic, she was not much good in a battle. She was not strong, she was not fast, and she could barely fend off a house cat.

"Loki," she called helplessly, feeling like a lost child. The snow was biting; it snagged on her skin in icy welts and soaked her clothes.

"Looking for me?" A thin, reedy, yet eerily familiar voice called back; it was as though Loki's voice had been recreated through a broken synthesizer, and it made her shiver. It sounded so pained, and yet she now knew that the scream she had just heard had not been Loki's. She froze where she stood, narrowing her eyes, the hairs on the back of her neck raising. Through the pure driven snow emerged a dark shadow, slowly taking shape and becoming clearer. It was that of a tall man, but not of the same stature as Loki. Whereas Loki's form was elegant, all refined angles, this man was of a slightly stockier, more athletic form, more similar to, perhaps, Harry's body. He wore Loki's helmet and Loki's cloak, and as he approached, she could see that he had taken some of Loki's patrician features. But they were oddly placed — as though pasted onto a heavier jaw. He was a caricature of Loki; recognizable yet bearing nothing actually in common with Loki's appearance. The effect was nearly comical, like a cheap Halloween costume.

At Hermione's obvious skepticism, the man's features and clothes blurred, as though she were looking at him through fogged glass. She took on a fighting stance, trying to recall Natasha's instructions, but the ground was so slippery — in fact, she could barely _see _the ground — that it was hard to find a steady footing. ...Not that a steady footing would actually help her against this creature, of course.

His features reassembled themselves: his skin was of a purpled, sickly cast, his nose of a beaky, hooked quality, and his eyes were a crystalline blue that stood out, even in the snow. He was surprisingly humanoid; his clothing was plain and dark. His hair grew and grew, silvery blonde and flowing, down his back, tangling itself in the wind. Her time at Hogwarts, being continually confronted with different creatures each more fantastic (in the literal sense of the word) than the one before it, had helped to dampen the shock of seeing something so different from herself — but even with that in mind, her heart still seemed to screech to a halt for one moment as she took in his horrific appearance.

The worst part was his eyes: in such a strange, foreign face, his eyes remained startlingly human — almost familiar. _Latch onto that, _she coached herself, _just look into his eyes and forget about the rest of him, and pretend he isn't a creature from another world. _

"They always fall for that one," he sighed, again that eerie, clawing, broken voice. Her heart was racing in fear at the fact that he could speak English. "Trust me, Midgardian, we are not as pathetic as you are — and we do not fall for the same idiocy."

"I'm not really a normal Midgardian," said Hermione, stalling for time. She tried to sense where Harry, the other Aurors, or Loki might be, but in the driving snow, it was impossible. She was completely isolated. "Are you one of the Svartalfs?"

A reedy, scratching chuckle erupted from his throat. He threw his head back and laughed.

"You might say I'm _the_ Svartalf," he said cryptically, beginning to circle Hermione. A thought occurred to her: _he's controlling the snow. _It was definitely calmer around them; the snow was nowhere near as fierce as the area surrounding them. _What did Loki say about the Svartalfs? _

_That's right, _she realized with a gasp. The Svartalfs' magic was like Loki's: illusory. They could not fundamentally change things; they could only make them appear to have changed. _The snow is an illusion, just like his impression of Loki was nothing more than an illusion... _

So then, he was only making it _appear_ that her magic wasn't working.

"'The' Svartalf?" She swallowed, trying to put on a show of bravery. She tried to channel Harry, who could so often appear unafraid and unruffled, at times when she would later learn that he had been out of his mind with fear and uncertainty. "So, no self-esteem problems there, then," she joked, though it did not come out as careless or nonchalant as Harry usually sounded, and in fact sounded exactly as she felt: on the precipice of absolute hysteria. _Okay, so trash that plan: again, I am **not** a good actor. _

"It seems one could say the same about you... Dr. Granger," he said coolly, approaching her. Hermione balked. _Okay, how in the name of Merlin's pants does he know my name?_ "You truly had the audacity to think that you, a foolish Midgardian with a magic stick, could outsmart the Svartalfs — the race that even Loki, _the god of mischief and trickery,_ could not outsmart?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, in spite of having no actual response prepared to that remark — after all, it was actually a good point — but it was moot: Malekith swung his hand, and enormous icicles rose up from the snow, about to speed towards her.

She waved her wand, futilely crying "_finite incantatem"_ as she ducked to the side, but one of the icicles smashed into her, hurling her to the ground; the breath was knocked from her lungs. She gasped and writhed as she heard something shatter; she rolled over and something was piercing her side as she heard the crunching of glass. It had to be the phial.

The phial with Loki's thoughts had been crushed.

There was no time to think of it, however: Malekith was advancing on her again. Hermione rolled over again and scrambled to her feet breathlessly, slipping on the snow and ice. She reached into her coat to brush the shards of glass off of her jumper, and her hand came back coated in silver and blood. The sight was revolting; she thought she might faint.

Malekith's eyes alighted on the silvery substance mixing with the blood, and greed flashed in those eyes.

"Perhaps you are not a normal Midgardian after all," he murmured, reaching his hand forth. "You bleed silver — what are you?" He grasped her by her wrists; her wand fell to the ground and disappeared in the snow. _Damn_. He lifted her up as she kicked her legs wildly, trying desperately to break free. "I asked you: _what are you?_"

Hermione wriggled and writhed, attempting to break free, and kicked out towards Malekith. A satisfied grin curved his monstrous lips. "You're the Midgardian that Prince Loki favors. I do know that," he purred, twisting Hermione this way and that, as though clinically examining a specimen. In a way, he was, in fact. She supposed that to him she was nothing more consequential than an insect that he might crush. She had to prove him wrong — she had to show him that he could not simply crush her planet. The thought was staggering; it was almost too much to process, even for her. _Where the fuck is Loki and why haven't we defeated Malekith yet?! _

Malekith tilted his head, his eyes flashing. "I don't see it, personally," he remarked conversationally, "but I suppose taste is, after all, personal. Beauty in the eye of the beholder, and all of that." He drew her closer now; his breath was rank and putrid. "I wonder...do you favor Prince Loki, little Midgardian? If you knew him and what he was capable of, however, perhaps I think you would not. You might find him as repulsive and offensive as you clearly find me."

"I know exactly what Loki is capable of," she retorted, before spitting in Malekith's face. He smirked, to her surprise.

"You will pay for that, little Midga —"

"HERMIONE!"

Ron was hurtling towards them through the snow. Panic seized Hermione.

"RON! GET AWAY!" she screamed, wildly thrashing to break free. Without warning, Malekith dropped her, and slashed his hand through the air again. Icicles formed, their gleaming points directed at him. Ron's blue eyes widened in fear and shock.

"_Impedimenta,_" he bellowed, waving his wand desperately. Nothing happened; rather agilely, Ron ducked, but the icicles followed him.

"Ron!" she shrieked again, darting towards him, the adrenaline rendering her faster than she might normally have been. She reached her hands out as Ron turned slightly to look back at the icicles, and several things happened at once: Malekith laughed: a deep, rumbling, triumphant chuckle; Ron let out a cry of agony that was both garbled and shrill; the icicles sank into his skin, at his neck and belly; and as his body hit the ground with an ominous _thwump_, blood splattered in lines of chaos all around him.

The world was ending — it had to be. Ron lay in a twisted crumple, his legs tangled at angles that shouldn't happen, and his chest was not rising and falling with breath. Hermione lunged for him and landed by his side, and wildly began shaking him. His blue eyes, the eyes she had so loved for so long, were wide open, yet unseeing.

Ron was dead.

* * *

"Old friend? I don't like people remarking on my age, Prince Loki," said Malekith as he slunk around Loki, circling him. Loki kept his eyes ahead, but his body was tense, all of his senses straining for some hint, some sign, of the unpredictable next move of Malekith. "Do you like the snowstorm? I thought it a nice touch."

"I particularly like the copy of me that you made, Malekith... but I was not impressed by the impression of my voice." Loki turned now, his grip tightening on his staff, as he faced Malekith eye-to-eye. "I would never scream in such an undignified manner."

"Oh? I recall someone shrieking for their father not too long ago, directly before running to _me_ for help." Malekith sighed, examining his long, gnarled nails. "And here we are again — you're in a pickle, and are once again beholden to me to get you out of it. I've always heard that life is cyclical; now I know the truth."

"And if life is cyclical, I believe the next step is for me to politely remind you that I am a god and, therefore, cannot be bullied into submission, before wreaking havoc upon your realm and taking my leave," replied Loki lightly. Malekith's eyes hardened.

"You seem rather confident for someone in your situation. You must admit that you are even worse off now than when we last spoke. I have reconsidered your proposal, Prince Loki. It would behoove you to reconsider it as well."

Loki was tempted to take a step back as he watched Malekith. Malekith's eerie eyes glittered with pure greed. "Think of it, Prince Loki. Midgard will fall, and you will be blamed for it — you will be exiled from Asgard forever. You have nowhere else to go...unless, of course, you go with _me_. And in Svartalfheim, you will have a place. You are Jotun, Prince Loki — you do not belong in Asgard. You belong with us, allies of Jotunheim, perfecting your magic with us. You were never appreciated in Asgard; your brilliance, wit, and talent were never valued by Odin. But in Svartalfheim...you are the epitome of perfection." Malekith leaned closer now. "With us on your side, Thor and the rest of Asgard will have to acknowledge your superiority. They will have to bow down to you."

"I have no reason to believe you. You did not want my aid before — why should you want it now?" Outwardly, Loki maintained a cool, calm, collected facade. Inwardly, he was at war. _They will have to bow down to you. They will have to acknowledge your superiority. _Malekith's plans were so transparent, yet he had uttered the very words that would tempt Loki the most. His greed, his hunger, for approval and recognition, were taking over and coloring his mind and heart.

"That should be obvious to you, Prince Loki, with your unmatched intellect," said Malekith deferentially. "When you came to me last time, we had no plans to take Midgard. But now, obviously, things have changed." His expression hardened. "Midgard has fallen. It is over for them, and if you do not choose to act in accordance with us, it will be over for you as well." Malekith placed his bony hand on Loki's shoulder, in a move of feigned friendship. "Now, what do you say... _old friend?_"

* * *

"Ron! Ron!" Hermione shrieked helplessly, shaking Ron even though it was pointless. His heart had stopped; he was breathing no more. She did not even realize the tears streaming down her cheeks, and she did not notice her throat growing raw and hoarse from screaming, gasping, and crying. Even in this world of icy white, everything had gone black. It couldn't be true; it couldn't be real.

"That is just the beginning of the destruction of Midgard, little girl," said Malekith behind her. Shaking with rage and grief, Hermione turned. Malekith was towering over her. _Ron is dead. Everyone will die. _She thought of Harry, of Agent Hill, of Natasha and Clint, of Thor and Jane — they would all be dead. The fury that overtook her was alien and unfamiliar. She was sick with anger, she was raw with hatred.

She wanted to murder Malekith.

She wanted to murder him slowly, painfully. She wanted him to suffer.

She leapt forth, diving into the snow and pawing through it frantically even as Malekith laughed raucously at her. She found her wand, finally, and raised it, pointing it at Malekith. He opened his mouth, most likely to utter condescension and cold amusement at her grief and pain.

_I am selfish. I am cruel. I do things because I want to, _she thought, her wand hand trembling. _I am ruthless, and I am driven, above all, by my own selfish wants and needs. This is just who I am._

And Malekith would learn what all of that truly meant; he would learn how it was manifest in her.

"_Crucio,_" she bellowed. She assumed nothing would happen, even as much as she desperately wished it to. But then, an inhuman scream, akin to the one she had _thought_ she had heard from Loki, filled the air, echoing throughout the atmosphere. Malekith dropped to his knees, his voice no longer remotely resemblant of a human voice. It was animal, it was raw, and it was a sound unlike she had ever before heard. _  
_

Her own power was staggering. _I caused that scream. I did this. _Inexplicable guilt and self-loathing surged through her. She ended the spell abruptly, and turned and, bracing her hands on her knees, vomited. Malekith was writhing on the ground, whining in pain. She straightened, wiping her mouth on the back of her free hand. Her wand was still in her fist, and her hands were still covered in red and silver.

Why had her magic worked?

She looked down at her silver-coated hands. She had a few theories in mind, but she couldn't question them now. She didn't know where Loki, Harry, or anyone else was, but she had to end this now. She had never wanted to use any of the Unforgivable curses, but it appeared that she would be forced to today. She raised her wand, attempting to brace herself for the grotesque crime that she was about to commit.

_He killed Ron, _she reminded herself, and then, she was so blinded by hatred and grief that it was nothing to coldly say, "_Avada Kedavra._" There was a flash of green light.

When it had faded, however, Malekith was gone.

* * *

Malekith, quite suddenly, let out a raw scream before dropping to his knees. It echoed in the snow, matching a twin echo of a scream coming from a short distance away. He flickered, and then was solid again. Loki looked down his nose at Malekith's pathetic prone form. Malekith was trembling in pain, and seething. Loki knew the signs well enough: one of Malekith's copies had just been harmed, and in a serious way.

"Your precious Midgardian just attempted to murder one of my dopplegangers. I do not know how she is capable of using her magic — I thought I had blocked off the magical energy in this realm — but trust me, she will be the first to go."

"My precious Midgardian?" Loki had to fight to keep the shock out of his voice. Malekith rose to his feet.

"The magical Midgardian. The one you are so oddly fond of." He brushed himself off. "I will end her life first, and then I will continue with the rest of this pathetic little gathering. My army is already taking care of the rest of Midgard — I am sure you will appreciate our methods."

_I will end her life first. _Again the image of Dr. Granger, lying dead in the snow, flickered in his mind. Had he been a lesser man, Loki might have panicked; he might have attacked Malekith. Had he been a man such as Thor, he might have reacted immediately. Instead, he let his tension only show in the grip on his staff. He offered Malekith a rare, smug smile.

Malekith was arrogant, and Loki knew the price of arrogance: he himself had paid it when he had attacked Midgard. He had been too complacent, and he had been too confident. As that one Midgardian had said: _you lack conviction. _At the time he had scoffed at those words. At the time, he had thought that there was nothing that he possessed more conviction in than in defeating and taking Midgard for his own. But now, having experienced the setback of defeat and humiliation, he understood: any man who thought himself the best lacked conviction, because he did not truly feel that he had anything to fight for — in other words, he believed he already had won.

This was Malekith's mistake, and Loki would bank on it.

* * *

Harry had heard the screams; he had heard Hermione bellowing Ron's name directly before uttering two of the three Unforgivable curses. Tense with nerves and nearly frozen solid, he attempted to non-magically round up his own troops. He could hear the creaking of machinery and the arguing of Fury and the rest of SHIELD and the Avengers; everyone was scattered and no one could find anyone else. It was lucky that their Disillusionment charm had been ended, because at least this way he could see his own Aurors.

"Everyone, get in formation and _stay put_," he ordered vehemently, his voice growing hoarse and nearly lost on the wind. Nonetheless, one of the higher-level Aurors, Jameson, obeyed and began rounding everyone else up, reminiscent of a sheepdog or border collie. Harry grimaced at such a lighthearted image in such a dark moment, and then turned to the direction from which he could have sworn Hermione's voice had come.

He began fighting his way through the ever-thickening snow, but froze in his tracks when a horrible groan of crumpling metal echoed throughout the air.

"They're here!" cried one of the Avengers — Harry didn't know which one — and then, immediately after that, gunfire. _Bloody hell, _Harry swore inwardly, gripping his wand and spinning around. _Are they fucking serious? Do they really think they can defeat the Svartalfs with _guns_ of all things?! "Lumos,"_ he said, though the wandtip remained dark. Cursing, he resumed his trot towards Hermione.

In the distance, contoured shadows were appearing through the snow, shimmering like mirages on a hot summer's day. Harry stopped again, his heart pounding. They were tall — taller than Loki or Thor — and of brutish, stocky shape. They were marching; they were coming for him.

_Where the hell are Hermione and Ron? _he thought desperately, backing up. But he would have to trust them to defend themselves; he had to look after his Aurors. Some of them had never had significant field experience like this — hell, even _he_ felt ill-prepared, of all people.

He turned on his heel and began sprinting back to his Aurors, but skidded to a halt when a wall of gleaming icicles rose up before him, just short of impaling him in the stomach. Involuntarily he let out a yelp of surprise before scrambling backwards, slipping on the snow.

The snow was even thicker; he could see nothing. He spun round, trying to find any sign of where he was, but he was lost. He was totally alone and isolated, with no magic and nothing to guide him.

_...Have we lost this battle already?_

* * *

Malekith had disappeared. Just like the snow, he had been nothing more than a magic trick. Hermione screamed through her teeth in frustration, her tears on her cheeks nearly frozen. Her whole body ached, on the verge of becoming numb, but worst of all was the pain in her heart. _Ron is dead Ron is dead Ron is dead Ron is dead. _With a helpless, childish sob, Hermione ran back to him. His skin was already turning blue from the cold. There were no signs of life.

_How could this have gone wrong so quickly?_ In desperation, Hermione levitated Ron's body, and used his heavy Auror cloak to cover his face and preserve his dignity in death. She had to find Loki, she had to find Harry, and she had to find a place to leave Ron's body for now.

"Harry!" she cried. "Loki!" But she was met with no response. A terrible thought gripped her: _what if Loki has betrayed us? _The thought sank like a stone to the pit of her stomach as she heard a rushing in her ears. There was a certainty to it — it was not 'what if' Loki has betrayed us, it was simply: Loki has betrayed us. She knew in her heart that he would never stick around for the losing team; she had known in her heart all along that there was nothing holding him here on earth.

_I'll kill him too. _The thought was sudden, unexpected, but now that it was here, she knew without a doubt that it was wholly true. She would find him, and she would kill him in the most painful way possible, and she would delight in it. It would give her pleasure, more pleasure than anything had ever before in her life, to be his undoing, when she knew now that he must have betrayed them — after all, how could this have gone so terribly wrong?

Then she heard it: something was going wrong with SHIELD; she heard the unmistakable crunch and crumple of metal, then shouts and the pummel of gunfire. Growing desperate, she Transfigured Ron's cloak into a box — _not a coffin, _she told herself fiercely — and set a number of wards on it. She settled it onto the snow and prayed that she would be able to get to it after the battle — if she were even alive at that point.

She stood there, straining her ears and waiting for a sign of what she could possibly do next. A shiver ran up her spine; she was overcome with the feeling of being watched. Slowly, she turned, and saw, over her shoulder, shadows in the snow. _  
_

It was Malekith's army. It was the Svartalfs.

They were advancing on her; she could hear them, their footsteps crunching in the snow and their jeers and laughs. She turned to face them, gripping her wand, debating on which spell to use next. She geared up, preparing to use _petrificus totalus _or some similar non-harmful spell (after all, it wasn't exactly in her jurisdiction to murder an entire alien race, and she wasn't even sure she _could_ do it, either) but she never had the chance: something hit her in the head, and then, everything went black.

* * *

"This is your big show? A few tricks, a few laughs, and some snow? I can't say I can appreciate your methods, Malekith," Loki said archly, returning the favor by circling Malekith now. Malekith scoffed.

"Some snow? Prince Loki, one of the Midgardians is already dead and more are on their way to following him," replied Malekith, as he twisted to maintain eye-contact with Loki. Loki's heart began to race but he merely raised his brows.

"You must be so pleased," he sighed. "After all, you finally have the accord of Jotunheim — like a mummy finally saying 'yes' to a treat."

Malekith's lips twisted into a self-satisfied grimace that did nothing for Loki's confidence that he had control of this situation. _Oh no. _He did not like that look.

"How appropriate, Prince Loki. Because, similarly in manner of a naughty child, I will be taking your favorite toy." He held up his hand demonstratively, and Dr. Granger's limp form flickered before him, held up by Malekith's fist on her collar. Blood was trickling down her forehead as sincere panic infused Loki — panic he could not quite mask. "You have tricked me before, Prince Loki, and now I am returning the favor — how does it feel?"

Malekith flickered again and was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: LAST CHAPTER YEY.** Just an epilogue after this**.

Thanks to all who reviewed last time: **Girl of Mischief, Mimo-sene, Jaguar Garfield, onecelestialbeing, nade . Elainoir , inked quill, Jen103, HerRoyalGoddess, Guest, BaBy-U-AmAzE-Me, ****MelodySong231, imustprofess, Hermitt, ForeverInVienna, Murlough's Enemy, wingedmercury, BlackShirt16, Sarah, AccioLoki, ds862, TimeRose, UnattainableDarkAngel, eltseth, Azera V, NorthernLights25, anticollision, summerful21, Eternally Free, hateme101, Jaguar Garfield, Ozzymandius, marana1, booklove44, Cihsegin, Iris Musica, Raychaell Dionzeros, liljennmartin, Zombie Reine, KateT101, DocteureCrane, Lorem tenebrae, lizzywithfire, and everything-is-black-and-white.**

Disclaimer: The HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Ten.**

* * *

Malekith was gone. The only evidence that he, or Dr. Granger, had ever been there at all was the splotches of Dr. Granger's blood staining the ground, which was slowly being covered up by the ever-thickening snow. Loki knelt to the ground and brushed at the snow. The blood seeped from it, coating his fingers. His breath caught in his throat as he held his fingers up before his eyes, observing the coppery liquid trickling down, thinning as it mixed with the melting snow on his hand. Dr. Granger's life force was literally in his hand.

She was dying.

Loki rose from his crouch. In the distance he heard the shouts and screams and gunfire signaling that the Svartalf army was attacking SHIELD, but he could see none of this through the heavy snow.

Dr. Granger was dying, Midgard was falling — and yet again he had failed. The dizzying snow spun round him, blanketing him in a world of endless and infinite white. He felt like he was disappearing, as though his existence were thinning, as though he were slowly being absorbed by the snow.

He had _failed_.

Loki's breaths came in short gasps as the enormity of his failures — of all of them — came crashing down on him, weighing him down, pushing him into the core of the earth, as though trying to bury him completely within the snow. The desperation that filled him reminded him of a time not so long ago — when the Avengers, along with his brother, had stopped his plan and defeated the Chitauri. At that time, he could remember how cornered he had felt. He had not bothered to plan for failure, and in doing so, it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. One who does not anticipate a worst case scenario invites such a scenario, after all, and now he knew that. He had not planned on Malekith turning off the Midgardian magic, as though flipping a switch.

Scratch that — he had not planned on allying himself with Midgard. He had not planned on working with Dr. Granger, and he certainly had not planned on attaching himself to her so much so that he felt _this_ feeling now — this feeling of suffocation, of asphyxiation, that was startlingly reminiscent of how he had so recently lusted after suffocating her.

Even now, the feelings he had about her were so conflicting, so contradictory, that he did not know what to do. Just seeing her unconscious face, the coppery red _mortal_ blood trickling down her temple, had closed a proverbial hand round his throat, bearing the threat to squeeze. The sight had nearly undone him.

Yet at the same time, he had not so long ago wished to be the person with a hand round her throat, threatening to squeeze.

How did one explain that feeling? It was not unlike his feelings for Thor — that unsettling combination of respect, admiration, love, jealousy, fear, and disdain — and yet, it was still different. Loki, with all of his power of language, could not find the words to describe this feeling. Once again, his silver tongue was failing him.

Perhaps he was not so clever after all.

In the distance he heard them calling for him, he heard their guns, and he heard the laughter — high-pitched, cruel, and silvery — of the Svartalfs. _Fools. _Svartalfs could not be defeated that way. Loki tilted his head towards the heavens, the snow stinging his eyes. He closed his eyes. Underneath a layer of suppression, he could still feel the Midgardian magic, sparking desperately, the energy attempting to break free.

He thought of Dr. Granger — not quite dead, not quite defeated.

He couldn't let them end Midgard — he couldn't let them end Dr. Granger.

* * *

The first thing she felt was pain — pain that sent her reeling; pain that was blinding. For one terrible moment, she was transported back to Malfoy Manor ten years ago. It was that sensation of waking up to pain, of realizing she had lost consciousness due to it, and now she was returning from that brief reprieve. The shock was shattering, that she could be in so much pain. Someone was screaming, and the sound shredded her nerves.

She opened her eyes and realized that the person screaming was her. Gasping and forcing herself to stop, she attempted to boost herself up on her elbows. She was lying on dirt, beneath a leafless tree, whose black gnarled branches stretched out towards an atmosphereless, starless sky. The tree was enormous — its trunk big enough that several of her could have fit inside — and its roots wove in and out of each other.

On shaky legs she rose to her feet, gasping and enduring a full-body cringe at the lightning bolts of pain that shot through her. She clenched her teeth as she fought back another scream and straightened up.

She could do this. She knew how to get through pain.

Her trembling hands were still coated in her own blood and the silvery substance of Loki's thoughts. She turned them over, examining them closely. Was this why she had been able to use magic so suddenly?

It appeared she was on an island of some sort, surrounded by levels of trees, almost reminiscent of an enormous ampitheatre. Shadows and glowing spots faded between the skinny trunks of the trees, and faint sounds, almost like whispering, echoed throughout this strange cavern.

This had to be Svartalfheim. Or perhaps she had died, and this was the afterlife. Perhaps Svartalfheim and the afterlife were one in the same. The thought was staggering. Hermione held a hand to her forehead, and when she pulled it away, it was covered in more dark red blood. The sight turned her stomach. Could one bleed in the afterlife? And if this were another realm, why was she able to survive? Unless there was oxygen here... She was puzzled, but in too much pain to work through the puzzle. She wanted to curl up underneath some blankets and never get up.

Something was niggling at the back of her mind as she turned round and round, searching for some sign of life in this strange place. She was reminded of the many strange places she had been in with Harry and Ron, of the many close escapes they had made.

Then the thing that was niggling her became clear: _Ron is dead._

Instead of feeling shock or misery or rage, she felt that same self-loathing guilt seep into her pores, filling her stomach with a leaden feeling and weighing down her weak limbs with more gravity than she could fight against. It was her fault that Ron was dead, just like everything else was her fault.

"A Midgardian that can survive in Svartalfheim? Fascinating..."

That same eerie voice, such a _broken_ sound_,_ echoed about the cavern. Hermione tensed and pushed aside her own turmoil as she wildly looked around for the source. "Over here," added Malekith boredly. With a horrible, sickening, bone-like _creak,_ the great tree began to twist. Its branches _scritch-scritch_ed against each other, and snapped twigs rained down around them as Malekith was revealed, sprawled at the fork in the trunk, on a magnificently carved throne.

His silvery-golden hair contrasted with the darkness around them and nearly seemed to glow. "I'm so glad you've quite finished your screaming. It was becoming tiresome," he drawled, rolling his eyes.

Hermione could think of nothing clever to say back to that as the sight of Ron's murderer blinded her with rage. She fumbled desperately for her wand before realizing that it was _gone_, and then a desperate helplessness wrenched a choke of fear from her throat. "Missing your stick? Not a problem; we've got plenty."

"Ha ha," said Hermione shortly. "Why have you brought me here?"

"You're not exactly in the position to be making demands, but since I'm so helpful, I will tell you." A horrible, cruel smirk curved his hideous lips as greed and triumph glittered in his strange eyes. "You are bait for Prince Loki of Asgard, but more importantly, you will act as our specimen. We have been watching you, little Midgardian, and Prince Loki has told us of your admirable power."

He let those words sink in, and sink they did — or rather, Hermione was again overcome with the sense of her stomach being filled up with lead, making her legs threaten to buckle. _Prince Loki has told us of your admirable power. _Did that mean that Loki had been allying with them all along? Was it possible? She tried to think through this notion, but her keen mind, for once, could only _feel._ And all it was feeling, at the moment, was blinding rage. There was the rage directed at Loki, of course, but there was also the rage directed at herself. Had she truly been so foolish to place so much trust in Loki? "That is right — Prince Loki betrayed you," confirmed Malekith silkily.

* * *

_Turn the magic back on, _he told himself. But nothing was happening. He began pacing, trying to _think_ and yet feeling too panicked to do so. _Calm down. You're acting like Thor._

At this thought, he paused, and again closed his eyes, feeling out the Midgardian magic. Had Thor been the leader in this situation, he would have been able to remain cool and collected; he would have found it much easier to seek out a plan, because Thor would have been the one requiring reassurance.

...Or, just maybe, Thor's presence reassured Loki.

A fresh wave of panic seized Loki as the enormity of the affection which he possessed for both Thor and Dr. Granger struck him. For someone as introspective as he, this realization should not have been such a thunderous one, and yet, here it was. He was shocked at the depth of his feelings for them. He had once thought that his heart was too poisoned, too full of pain, to really feel love anymore.

But he did feel it.

And the feeling was driving him mad.

Loki did not want to feel crazed with emotion — he longed to remain silver-tongued and slippery, never allowing anyone or anything to acquire too strong of a hold on him. Yet it seemed that was not possible. Right now he felt as directionless, impulsive, and hot-headed as Thor, perhaps more so.

Something in the snow caught his eye, drawing him from his thoughts. A flash of recognition, and he knelt down. It was Dr. Granger's wand, unmistakably.

"Loki!"

Thor was sprinting toward him, through the snow. A Svartalf was advancing on them. Holding the wand, Loki watched as the Svartalf moved his hands, beginning to swipe at Thor. Impulsively Loki raised Dr. Granger's wand, and thought, _kill._

The Svartalf dropped to the ground, dead.

"Thor, try to be a little more aware of your surroundings," Loki ordered as Thor reached him, out of breath and panicked. "That elf could have killed you if not for me."

"Why is your magic working and no one else's is?!" Thor demanded breathlessly. Loki held up Dr. Granger's wand. The hand bearing the wand was still stained with her blood. An explanation had occurred to him, but it seemed so far-fetched that he was terrified to conclude anything from these clues at all.

"I'm not sure," said Loki, examining the wand. "But Malekith has taken Dr. Granger."

Thor's eyes widened.

"We must save—"

"No, Thor," said Loki shortly, cutting him off and holding his hand up. Thor faltered slightly. "Malekith took Dr. Granger to lure me away from Midgard," he continued, suddenly strangely calm. Deep down he knew it was because Thor was with him now, but he refused to acknowledge that fully at the moment. "Malekith had told me of his plans to experiment on Midgardians, when I attempted to ally with him."

Thor went beet red with rage.

"Loki, how can you possibly stay so calm when the woman you love is in danger — in Svartalfheim, no less! Are you truly so cold —" the words died on his tongue. Eye to eye, the brothers regarded each other now.

"I am truly that cold," Loki replied quietly, his words barely audible above the howling wind and snow. Thor pressed his lips together.

"I didn't mean —"

"If Malekith lures me to Svartalfheim, he will have me where he wants me. There is no doubt that he has an ambush prepared," Loki continued, disregarding Thor's comments. He began pacing in front of Thor. "But since my magic seems to be working, then we can finish off the Svartalfs here and send them back as a sort of... appetizer... for Malekith," he finished wickedly. Thor began to chuckle, shaking his head at Loki, and it felt for one moment like old times.

"But what of Lady Granger?"

"I believe she will be just fine. If I were you, I would be more worried about Malekith," said Loki smugly. Thor was grinning again.

"Brother, I believe you may be right... Now, how do we go about defeating these elves?"

Loki looked down at Dr. Granger's wand. A wave of unease hit him as he wondered about whether Dr. Granger would survive without it... Then, he recalled something she had said to him, when they were planning on defending against Svartalfheim: _Wizards and witches use wands — we don't _have_ to, but most people can't accomplish meaningful magic without them. _If there were to be any witch or wizard that could accomplish wandless magic, it would be Dr. Granger. She would be fine, he told himself, quelling the rising fear.

_So I'll just lift the magical suppression that Malekith has placed on Midgard, and then... _warmth spread from his fingertips as green sparks shot out of Dr. Granger's wand. He tilted his head up to the heavens, thinking of Dr. Granger in Svartalfheim. He longed to send her a message, to say all of the things he had not been able to say — he longed for her to continue to believe in him. He had seen how she had looked at him — she had _seen_ him, she had _trusted _him, when no one else had — just as Thor had. But he knew Malekith would be systematically shredding that trust now, and using his own cleverness to ruin Loki's bond with Dr. Granger.

He needed to send her a sign — he needed to say everything with one symbol.

He closed his eyes, thinking of Dr. Granger, and he recalled the beginning of their strange series of interactions. A smile curved his pale lips as his eyes opened. Oh, yes — he knew _just _the thing to send her.

* * *

Hermione's fists trembled. _Prince Loki betrayed you. _Had he, or hadn't he? She was here, after all, Ron was dead, and clearly they had failed. The current evidence pointed to Loki's definite betrayal, but her heart did not want to believe it. She looked up to Malekith, who was observing her with great interest. His gnarled, bony hands were curled around thin branches just as gnarled as his hands. The tree looked dead, its wood ashen and brittle. And yet something — right by Malekith's head — was growing; a bud was forming.

Pink blossoms, shaped like lotuses, were blooming on the tree.

Such saturated and intense beauty was unexpected in a place of such ugliness and despair. The lush, rosy hue of the blossoms seemed to glow, and a warmth filled Hermione, entirely unexpectedly. She looked down at her hands, still coated in silver. She knew those blossoms, and she knew where they had come from. Her heart began to beat at a more regular pace as her fears were soothed. Loki could never have betrayed her, because she knew in her heart that he was trying to tell her something now.

_If Malekith is using me as bait for Loki, then that means he has no other means of luring Loki here... _she realized. If Loki had made plans to betray Midgard, then Malekith would need no means of getting Loki into Svartalfheim — because then, he would be on their side.

_My magic worked before, on Midgard... does having Loki's thoughts on my skin change my magic? _she wondered, examining her hands. Malekith now noticed the flowers, and began tearing at them wildly.

"Loki, where are you," he hissed, crawling up the branches and turning round and round, in desperate search for Loki. Hermione smirked, watching him.

_Don't worry, Loki, _she thought with amusement, _I've got Malekith._

Hermione bit her lip as she tried to determine Malekith's next move. If he had any brains at all, he was going to figure out that Loki _wasn't_ here sooner, rather than later, and then it was likely that he would attack her. She shifted her weight, recalling some of Natasha's instruction, and closed her eyes for a moment, sensing the magic in her hands. How had she not felt it before? Loki's power was within her now, changing her magic into something different.

She opened her eyes, focused on the tree, and with half-surprise, half-horror, watched as it burst into flames. Malekith let out a shrill shriek before leaping off of it and landing rather gracefully on the ground before it, his eyes glittering with rage. He was filled with the intent to kill, and if she didn't act fast, he was going to succeed.

"How is your magic working, you stupid girl," he hissed, lurching towards her. Hermione dodged to the side, panting slightly. _I wonder if I can make copies..._

Almost as soon as she had had the thought, she was no longer standing before Malekith, but was instead among the trees overlooking the wooden throne, hidden among the branches, watching as Malekith slunk towards her. _Is that the real me, or is that a copy...? _Her mind was flooded with sensations: she was both seeing Malekith before her as well as the trees in front of her; she was everywhere, moving in two different directions at once. _How the _hell _does Loki manage this?!_

Accidentally, she tried to move the copy that was in front of Malekith, and instead ended up ramming herself into a tree. The sound caught Malekith's attention, and he turned away from the copy in front of him to search for her. Seizing the opportunity, Hermione did her best to make her copy try to perform something akin to _diffindo. _Malekith let out a shriek of pain as the skin on his back split open, spraying viridian blood everywhere. Gasping for breath, Hermione deleted that copy just in time, before Malekith could swipe at it. Now there was only one of her again, hidden in the trees, waiting with bated breath.

* * *

Loki focused all of his energy, all of his power, into Dr. Granger's wand — and then, suddenly, green and red sparks exploded from the wand before the snow vanished.

All at once, there was an explosion of power. The magic that the Aurors had been attempting to cast was expelled from their wands, and sparks, bolts, and jets of colored light shot through the air in all directions as screams, shrieks, and whoops of happiness and relief filled the air. Thor let out a whoop of his own and jumped up and down.

"You did it, brother," he rejoiced, his eyes filled with pure joy. Loki allowed himself a small smile.

"You've got work to do," he reminded him lightly, and Thor nodded, smirking, before rushing into the midst of the battle, with Mjolnir at the ready. For a moment, Loki observed the fighting as relief flooded him. _I did it. _For once, he hadn't failed — at least, not yet. Once more, he looked skyward. There was just one more thing he needed to do — more than anything perhaps.

He watched as Harry and Thor and Fury rallied their respective troops, felling the Svartalfs one by one. Now their original plan was finally being put into action. They had gambled correctly on one front, at least: the Svartalfs had not brought nearly as many troops as they had, and now, as the fighting continued, were already outnumbered at least three to one. Groups of Aurors, Avengers, and Asgardians closed in on them, with their guns and magic and swords, and screams of terror and defeat were heard from the Svartalfs.

With that, Loki disappeared.

* * *

Malekith let out another roar of rage as he slashed at the air wildly, his magic cutting through his precious trees in his desperate search for Hermione. Using Loki's magic, she had made ten copies of herself, and made them appear and disappear intermittently. Malekith was losing blood fast, his life force was draining away, and as it did, he was growing more and more reckless.

But she couldn't do it — she couldn't kill him.

She had had plenty of opportunities at this point. Clearly Malekith had not anticipated having any trouble with her, and had left all of his troops on Midgard to attack them there. He was alone, and she could deliver the final blow at any moment that she wished. Yet her hand stilled at every point; her reluctance to kill took over and she retreated each time.

Could she take a life?

A life for a life, she told herself fiercely. Thinking of Ron, dead and gone due to Malekith, should have been enough to make her kill him without reservation. Was she really so cowardly, that she could not bring herself to kill? She was hoping that he might simply drop dead due to blood loss, or else surrender, and then she would never actually have to kill him. But what if that didn't happen? What if he finally did catch her and kill her before he weakened enough to become powerless?

But, then, something gave her pause. She deleted her copies, as she was hidden on the other side of the ampitheatre, as Malekith fruitlessly burned down his trees, crying out in rage all the while. The air was filled with a new energy, an energy she knew all too well.

Loki had arrived.

On the center, before the burning tree, a cloaked figure bearing a staff and a horned helmet was silhouetted. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched from the shadows. Malekith froze, apparently sensing Loki's presence. When he turned around, however, a cruel and triumphant smile was on his hideous face. He rose to his feet.

"I was wondering when you would arrive." In the face of such pain, Malekith's voice had grown even more broken and brittle, just as his trees were. He surveyed Loki, his viridian blood dribbling down his face and limbs, pooling on the ground beneath him. "But I'm afraid you have already lost — your precious Midgardian is dead."

Hermione watched for Loki's reaction: he showed no emotion, however. He simply stared at Malekith. Hermione gripped the tree in front of her as she panicked: _what should I do?_

Something smooth and cool pressed against her lips as strong arms wrapped around her. She froze. Loki was holding her to him, his palm over her mouth to prevent her from screaming in surprise. When she realized it, she relaxed into his arms as they watched Malekith advance on Loki's copy.

"Let me kill him," she murmured into the palm of Loki's hand. She felt him shake his head. Fury blossomed in her. "Why not?" she hissed, attempting to turn to face him. His hold on her tightened. "He killed Ron," she added, her voice breaking but muffled by his hand as he pressed it closer to her lips. Her eyes were beginning to burn with tears again. "I can kill him. I _can_."

"I know you can." That voice... she could recall hearing it for the first time, and she could recall how it had both chilled and warmed her. Now it sent shivers up her spine, its warmth curling around her. How had they gotten to this point, in such a short matter of time? How had she fallen for Loki, after all he had done? How could she possibly allow him to hold her like this, when she had placed so much energy in defeating him, in ending him, and in confining him?

He released her. She hadn't expected that. Slowly, she turned to face him. His face, those delicate patrician features, was shadowed in the darkness, his eyes glimmering, his lips just barely curved with the promise of a smile. She wanted him, she needed him, _she loved him_. She knew he wanted her, knew he needed her — but did he love her?

If she didn't kill Malekith, then Loki would have to. The idea of allowing someone else to possess the murder on their conscience, especially Loki, was an uncomfortable idea. Loki deserved peace — after all, he had followed through on his promise. He deserved the liberty of peace and the peace of liberty.

She could give that to him, if she took Malekith's life.

That was all of the propulsion she needed. If she could spare Loki even one last fragment of guilt, then she could rest more easily. Decisively she turned, just in time to watch Loki delete his copy before Malekith's eyes. He let out a roar of rage and fell to his knees, beating the ground beneath him. Frozen by such a pathetic scene, Hermione waited for the appropriate moment to strike. She could feel that he was nearing his death now, it wouldn't be long — one good strong blow would do it.

Malekith was uttering something unintelligible, and then he was sobbing, tears streaming down his ugly face as he retched and writhed on the ground before the flames. Loki and Hermione watched, stricken, as they were confronted by Malekith's unexpected humanity. Though they did not know what he was saying, it was clear he was begging for his life, begging to live. That a creature from another realm could beg for their life just as a human could was staggering to Hermione. The loss of death was universal, and it was unavoidable. She began to cry as well, unable to move.

The flames crept closer and closer as Malekith stilled. He slumped on the ground, in the dirt stained viridian, before the flames took over entirely.

Within moments, Malekith was nothing more than ash.


	11. Epilogue

Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for your incredible patience with me and for all of your helpful comments, reviews, criticism, praise, and artwork! I still am not in love with this epilogue but I wanted to finish at least one of my stupid WIPs. **The full version of this chapter (which is necessary for plot reasons) will be posted at my AO3 (archive of our own) account later, under the name of uchiha_s. FFnet doesn't like links, so just google it up please, or click the link on my profile.**

Disclaimer: the HP and Marvel universes do not belong to me.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

Hermione and Loki stared in shock at the smoldering remains of Malekith and his peculiar throne for several minutes, each unable to form a response. There was a keen sense of loss filling Hermione, dampening her victory. They had won, but she had lost Ron. The victory almost didn't matter, and the relief she felt at defeating Malekith was minute in comparison to the grief and guilt surging through her now.

Loki watched Hermione's back tense. He held his breath, waiting — surely she'd turn to him now, and throw her arms round him — and then... He fought the urge to smirk in victory. This moment was one he had been anticipating: finally, she would have to acknowledge their bond. Finally, Hermione would have to give in to her own obvious desires...

But she did not turn round; she did not fling her arms round him.

The breath was knocked from Loki, even as he told himself to be calm, to be patient. He knew how to wait for what he wanted; he knew how to obtain his own desires. He steeled himself, but when she finally did turn around, her face was ashen with pain and grief. She didn't want him.

"We won," said Hermione, her weary voice tinged with irony. She gave a flippant gesture back to the remains of Malekith. "I suppose we should head back to earth and let them know."

Their eyes met now; there was a certain avoidance in her gaze that told him all he needed to know: by refusing to acknowledge all that had passed between them, she was rejecting him. It didn't take a genius to see it, and Loki was more than equipped to perceive such subtle cues. He was breathless with the unfairness of it all, he longed to strike her for doing this to him. How foolish he was, how audacious — to assume she would have seen their bond, to assume her feelings ran deeper.

He looked into her brown eyes, thinking of all the men she must have so callously cast aside in favor of her own intellectual pursuits, and he felt his throat burn with acid rising up. She didn't want him.

"Such nonchalance — I nearly forgot you do this all the time," said Loki now, his voice low and scathing and rough with hurt and anger. Why didn't she want him? Hermione visibly winced, and the sight was soothing. He wanted to see her in pain, because she did not want him and she had led him on.

"What's wrong now? Something not going your way? Ron is dead, Loki, because our planning wasn't good enough." Her brown eyes were beginning to well up with tears, and though Loki's hands itched to reach out, to take her in his arms, they also ached to hurt her. The conflict was, as always, unbearable. Would he never feel at peace? Would his inner demons never rest?

"This was a war, Dr. Granger. He was a casualty. I doubt there has ever been a war lacking in casualties."

Loki's voice was hard, unforgiving. Hermione balked. After everything they had been through, could Loki truly lack sympathy, to this extent? Did he really feel none of her pain? Hermione's heart was leaden in its lack of hope. She had never before felt so alone.

"...Perhaps you're right," she finally said flatly, even as her throat was constricted with the burn of tears. "Let's just get back to earth."

Loki reached out to hold on to her for the teleportation; as Svartalfheim shimmered and disappeared around them, Loki felt himself disappearing from Hermione's heart and mind.

* * *

"Brother! Lady Granger!" Thor bellowed, vaulting himself at the two when they had returned. In the distance, the unconscious Svartalf army had been rounded up.

"We did it," said Hermione in a leaden voice. "Malekith is dead."

Thor's joviality disappeared; his face settled into grim lines. He had been ruler and soldier for long enough to know that now was not the moment for celebration. His eyes met Loki's, and Loki looked into his brother's steely blue eyes. How often had he denounced his own plain grey eyes; how often had he admonished himself for not possessing the broad, square jaw; the long golden hair; the deep blue eyes; and the bulky form that Thor posessed? How many times in his youth had he gazed in sulkiness at both Frigga and Odin, wondering why they had given Thor so much of their appearances, and given him none?

It had made him ill with jealousy. Every time he had looked at his brother, he had had to see yet another way in which he had been slighted by Odin. Now he knew the truth about why he did not look like Thor, and yet the feeling did not go away.

He wondered what Thor saw when he looked at him. He probably only saw his beloved brother, and that thought shamed him. On top of everything else, Thor had also gotten a warm and loving and bottomless heart. His own heart was sickened, twisted, filled with envy and all sorts of ugliness and decay.

Thor's full lips, so unlike his own, curved in a slight grin. Hermione had stepped aside, and now, Thor threw his arms around Loki. Loki accepted the embrace, and for a moment, could not return it. How he longed to be like Thor: so willing to forgive, so ready to accept with open arms.

He returned the embrace.

"I am sorry about your friend, Lady Granger," said Thor in a solemn voice, when he had released Loki. Hermione nodded, blinking fiercely. Beyond the Svartalf army, the Aurors were huddling to keep warm, but Harry stood separate from them, staring at a long, coffin-like box, his face as white as the snow. His and Hermione's grief was shocking.

Hermione went to Harry, and Loki, sick with jealousy, observed as their arms slung, so naturally, round each other. The gesture was intimate and familiar. Did Hermione realize the deep-hearted love which Harry had for her? Did she even care that, probably, with one word, she could have separated him from his wife and son? Did it matter to her?

"What happened back there?" Thor asked Loki quietly, placing a hand on his arm. Loki resisted the urge to shrug it off, his eyes still riveted to Hermione and Harry as they silently comforted each other.

"Dr. Granger was dueling Malekith," Loki began flatly, "and I stepped in at a helpful time. She had started a fire, and Malekith died through that."

"She is your match, Loki," Thor replied, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Loki said nothing; there was nothing to say. Sometimes, Thor was not so clever. Evidently he did not see how many men longed for Hermione; evidently he did not see how little she cared for _him_.

The days which followed were like drowning; she was underwater in her own grief, guilt, confusion, and loss. A funeral was held at Hogwarts for Ron, and an ashen-faced Harry, overcome with grief as she was, gave a short and terse eulogy. Hermione had been staying at Grimmauld place with Harry and Ginny, in one of their guest rooms. Now, five days following the funeral, and eight days following the battle with Svartalfheim, it was finally time for her to return to the flat which she had shared with Ron.

She stood there, in their cramped sitting room, observing evidence of the life they had lived together. Pictures (some Muggle, some Wizard) hung on the walls and cluttered the tops of tables and shelves; one of Ron's jumpers lay carelessly cast on the sofa, his shoes in a heap at the foot of the sofa; he had left the telly on when he had left, apparently, and it was set to a rather silly reality program concerning cakes, still blaring, the noise not even filling the incredible silence which now consumed her world.

Hermione thought of the Weasleys; this was the second Weasley son to die before his time, and this time, it was completely and utterly her fault. Though Mrs. Weasley had wrapped her in a hug at the funeral, deep down Hermione had heard her thoughts, and she knew that everyone blamed her for Ron's death nearly as much as she blamed herself.

She did not deserve happiness, after what she had done. She deserved this pain, this sadness. It would be her cross to bear; it would be her penance for allowing Ron to die. She deserved this punishment, of being surrounded by remnants of Ron's life. Even now, she could feel his magic still clinging to the air, faint and warm. Why had she not noticed it before?

She was despicable.

* * *

**Three Years Later**

* * *

"Brother, are you ever going to step away from your work? There is a celebration outside in my honor. My own advisor cannot miss it!"

Thor's large, warm hand clapped down on Loki's tense shoulder, and Loki scowled at his parchment when the movement caused him to muss his handwriting. With a scoff, he dropped his stile.

"Brother, are you ever going to learn to not bother me when I am working?" He turned round to face Thor, who was decked out in his finest armor and cloak. He was beaming — practically radiating golden light in his immutable happiness. Loki could not fight back a fond smile even as the typical stabs of jealousy pierced his heart. "Fine. Happy birthday, brother," he conceded finally. If possible, Thor's beam widened.

"Excellent. Now, put that down, and let us drink until we can no longer stand!" Thor declared, dragging Loki away from his work. Loki scrambled to put out the light before straightening his clothing and armor and following on Thor's heels.

The birthday party was beyond extravagant. The throne room, splendid in its golden decorations, was packed to bursting with Asgardians — and a Midgardian, of course. Jane's slight form was notable in how it differed from those of Asgard, and across the room Loki watched as Thor and Jane's gazes locked. He rolled his eyes, more for his own benefit than anyone else's. Sometimes, Thor and Jane's undying devotion and all grew a tiny bit grotesque. Still, he was genuinely happy for Thor, as much as it pained him to admit it. Thor was truly growing into his role as ruler of Asgard, and especially with Jane (sort of) at his side, he was more confident and relaxed than ever. Of course, Jane was normally in Midgard, conducting research, but often she was stolen away to spend time with Thor — mostly in his bedroom, to the amusement of all at court and the disapproval of Frigga.

Loki surveyed the party, more of a spectator than a participant. The music, the cheering, the shouting, the clink of glass upon glass as toasts were made: it all blurred together into a deafening din that was oppressive. Loki tugged at his collar — he needed to get out. He stole away, melting into the shadows.

He reappeared out on the balcony which overlooked the rainbow bridge and the city of Asgard. In the distance, the sky was magnificent, with its golden, citrus, and crimson hues blazing, shot through with purple clouds. The sight never failed to take his breath away, no matter how often he saw it.

However, somewhere out there was Hermione, and this thought always occurred to him, just at the height of the sunset's beauty. At this moment, he would always turn away from it, and today was no exception. His features drew together, contorting in pain, and he turned away, back into the shadow of the balcony.

He would never forget that moment in Svartalfheim for as long as he lived — which, if myths were to be believed, was forever — and he would never forget how her warm brown eyes had held such weakness. In that moment, as the dying fire's last crackle had echoed throughout the cavern, Hermione had turned to him, and he had seen himself in her eyes: the guilt, the shame, the loss.

To see himself so clearly mirrored in another's eyes: it wounded him. He had grown breathless at the sight. As they had teleported from Svartalfheim, Hermione had shimmered before him, disappearing particle by particle, and he had felt her slipping away from him just as fast.

When they had returned to Midgard, though Hermione had been standing before him, he had known the truth: for all intents and purposes, she was gone.

After the funeral service for Ron, he had not spoken to Hermione. There hadn't been time, anyway, what with his sins against Midgard and Asgard being officially pardoned by both SHIELD and Thor himself, in two separate ceremonies. The ceremony that took place in Asgard was much more of a welcome-home party, which would surprise no one who knew Thor at all. However, Loki had never expected to be so warmly welcomed back to Asgard, especially after all the trouble he had caused, but it seemed that in defeating Malekith, he had truly been pardoned.

At first, the distance had been a comfort. He had not wanted to see Hermione, because he had not known what he might do if he did see her. His feelings were all confused, and once he realized there was no reason for regular contact with Midgard, he decided to put the past behind him. Hermione clearly had no deeper feelings for him like he had suspected, and she was probably too busy grieving for Ron to even be willing to examine any budding affection she might have possessed.

So, he had resolved to forget her.

He had put every fibre of his being into making up for lost time: he had helped to make Thor's reign as solid as could be, and with his excellent strategising, it had been quite a peaceful one as well, thus far. Thor needed Loki, and damn it, Loki needed Thor.

(Still, he managed to add in a few tricks here and there. Just to keep Thor humble, really.)

But it was days like today that made him remember Hermione: he could not help but to recall her warm brown eyes, her spirit, her energy, and her sheer power that had allured him from the very moment he had sensed her setting foot inside his prison. Hermione's magic was everywhere, and he had not forgotten the feeling of holding her wand to conduct his magic — almost as intoxicating a feeling as holding her close to him. He wanted, desperately, to forget it, to let it go, to pretend it all had never happened, but he could not seem to relinquish these memories. They came to him, unbidden, and though he wished they would go, he sensed that he was allowing them to stay. In this way, he was keeping Hermione close to him, as he knew he would never see her again.

For months — nearly a year — he had harbored an unreasonable rage towards her. He had been sick with envy and rage and loss. Why did he never get any of the things which he desired? Everything he wanted was always just out of reach, slipping through his fingers every time he thought he had found his grip on it. Hermione was no exception, and the moment he had felt she was within his grasp, she had slipped through his fingers like water. Jane Foster had once cryptically remarked that Hermione was not a conquest nor a prize to be won; she was a person with choices and loyalties and dreams and regrets, and therefore could not be won nor taken. He had not understood what she had meant, at the time.

With time, however, he had begun to grow, and change. As his anger towards the world subsided, so did his anger towards Hermione. As his bond with Thor healed and re-formed, stronger than ever and only strengthened by the flames of battle and anger, Loki found himself wanting bonds with others — specifically, with Hermione. Deep in the night, alone with his thoughts, he had found his hands wandering as his mind returned to his memories of Midgard, and all of the times during which Hermione had been within his reach. He still had not met a woman he respected quite so much. Jane Foster was close, but often he found himself irritated by her awkwardness, by her lack of confidence. She was brilliant but always needing guidance and direction, and so quick to feed on Thor's self-esteem.

He didn't want a woman who would need him, but at the same time, Hermione's independence was infuriating. Women needed men, and that was the bottom line. Yet Hermione would never need him, and would barely even want him.

Normally, he was inclined to simply go after whatever he wanted, relentlessly. He was as driven as Hermione, if not more so, and it was partially what made him such a valuable advisor for Thor. But something unidentifiable held him back from simply returning to Midgard and searching for Hermione. Perhaps Jane's words had affected him more than he had before thought; he was no longer seeing Hermione as a prize but instead seeing her attention and love itself as the real prize.

Loki's thoughts were torn from Hermione when one of the guards cleared his throat, and Loki was grateful for the release from thoughts of Hermione. He turned back to the guard, a short, squat, but powerful middle-aged man with a full red beard.

"Prince Loki, sir, we have identified a security breach through the northern wing," said the guard. Loki narrowed his eyes shrewdly, and pushed past the guard, thoughts of all else banished from his mind as he reentered the celebration.

* * *

Lightning split through the sky, just as a crack of thunder shook the tiny flat. Hermione scowled, listening to her glasses and cutlery rattle, before returning to her work. She sat on the floor, leaning against her sofa, her coffee table piled high with books and the carpet around her covered in scrolls. Normally she was far more careful and precise in her note-taking, but as she had not slept in three — no, four — days, she was growing a little messy. Her shirt was splattered with ink, her hair was wild, and her hands were trembling with too much caffeine.

Still, she was close. Just one more rune to find, and then...

"YES!" she cried, jumping up and punching the air. In the process, her notes tumbled from her lap to the ground in one big mess, and she let out an oath that would have made Mundungus Fletcher blush. _Whatever_, she thought grumpily, brushing herself off and crouching to sort her notes._ At least I finished it._

And on record time too: as usual, especially of late. Hermione Granger no longer slept, ate, or socialized reliably. In the stead of a normal life, she had constructed an entire universe wherein only her work and her admirable intellect existed. Kingsley gave her problems, and she solved them. This way, she didn't need to think about anything else, and that was excellent.

Of course, the usual panic of realizing she had finished a project and now had to wait until a 'reasonable' hour to contact Kingsley for a new one set in. Hermione squinted at her clock.

Well, was there anything actually wrong with contacting the Minister of Magic at eleven thirty on a Friday?

Hermione wiped her brow, massaged her temples, and dropped down onto her sofa. Rain rattled her windows and thunder made her photographs jiggle on the wall. She tapped her fingers together in different patterns and then, when it occurred to her that she was getting entirely too focused on that, she dropped her hands in frustration.

She groaned. _Let's see... what do I normally do when I don't have any more projects to occupy me?_

Well, there was always re-reading a sappy chick lit book that was sure to make her sob her eyes out, whilst drinking hot tea and listening to Celestina Warbeck. Not that she did that, or anything...

A knock on the door startled her enough to make her choke on her spit. Wild-eyed and over-caffeinated, Hermione summoned her wand and tiptoed to the front door. If it was Ginny telling her to get a social life, she was going to give that little spit-fire a taste of her own medicine and fire a thousand Bat Bogey Hexes in her general direction (not that Ginny had done this before, or anything...).

She waited for her wards to tell her exactly who had the nerve to show up like this, when her door unexpectedly swung open. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the features of one Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"K-kingsley," she sputtered, her face flushing with shame. Her flat was a mess, her hair was a sight, and she was just now realizing that it was highly likely that some of the curry takeaway she'd gotten was smeared on her face and shirt. Kingsley, however, was looking immaculate as always. "I was just—"

"Thanks for inviting me in," he said in his deep, slow voice, pushing past her. Hermione blinked. It was always unsettling when Kingsley was sarcastic, and usually did not bode well for her. He paused in the middle of the room, his gaze taking in her sitting room, and he shook his head.

"I finished the—" she stopped when he held his hand up.

"I am sure you did," he said wearily. "But I don't have any more busywork for you right now, Granger. I've got a real project now, and you're not gonna like it, I can tell you that much, but you're the only one for the job."

* * *

It had been three years since she'd been back at SHIELD. Hermione squinted at the dark night and the icy world below, as the snow-covered crags grew closer and closer. They were landing, and her stomach was tying itself into knots. She had insisted that Apparating would have been much less trouble for everyone, but Kingsley had in turn insisted that there was too much of a chance for her to back out that way, and he was unfortunately right.

She could always Apparate out of the helicopter, but thinking of how many people were depending on her stilled her, forced her to put away her wand. As much as she didn't want to go back, it seemed it was inevitable.

She hadn't returned any of Natasha, Jane, or Agent Hill's calls. Natasha and Maria had even shown up at her flat, trying to bang down her door, but at the time Hermione had been unable to face them, and after that, she had been too guilty to try to make amends. She was ashamed of her behavior but, as she saw no painless way to make amends, she had resolved to simply forget about them — in spite of the three women having been kinder and better friends to her than anyone, even Ginny or Luna, had ever been before.

Now the shame that she had been pushing down for three years was bubbling up again, fighting to spill over, and it was almost too much to handle.

"Landing," called the pilot over the comm system. Hermione wished she could shrink back into her seat and simply disappear, and though she was positive she knew enough clever Hexes and Charms to accomplish it, she knew that the shame of running away — again — would break her this time.

"Here goes nothing," she mumbled, scrunching her eyes shut as she attempted to gird herself for what was sure to be a painful, humiliating, and sad experience.

The helicopter landed jerkily on the launch pad, and soon Hermione was standing in the driving snow, the intense lights of the launch pad illuminating everything and forcing her to shield her eyes. Before her stood the entrance to the compound, and she was so overcome with memories and pain that it took her breath away.

"Right this way, Dr. Granger," said the pilot, as he hefted her duffel bag over his shoulder. Hermione winced.

"I've got it," she assured him, taking it from him and grunting with the effort of hoisting it up. She had brought everything this time, in an attempt to be better prepared, and even with all of the Undetectable Extension Charms on the beaded bag, it hadn't been able to hold all that she had wanted to bring. She had had to go up a size to the duffel bag, but she'd still packed her beaded bag with essentials, just in case.

With legs like lead, she followed the pilot inside.

The SHIELD compound was brightly lit and windowless, just as it had been. Hermione was overcome with a sense of deja vu that left her reeling. If it were this bad already, how would she feel when she finally saw the Avengers? _I've just got to do it_, she told herself, gritting her teeth and adjusting her grip on her duffel bag.

She would finally have to confront her grief for Ron.

It was such a complex grief, though, that she had never even known where to start in dealing with it. It was better to push it down, to lock it away. Everyone told her she had to move on, that she deserved to be happy, but deep down she knew that wasn't the case. She had failed Ron, and though she had won the battle against Malekith, she had lost the war in her own mind: she almost felt that her desire for Loki had been what caused her to subconsciously allow Ron to die.

In the sobriety of daylight, she knew this was illogical. Yet on her own, in the dark, these thoughts always crept in... She shook her head in a futile attempt to banish them. She couldn't think of it now — she had a mission to do.

A mission. Wasn't this what she had always done? Any time she was upset or in emotional pain, she buried herself in her work. She found a point to focus on, and she would work relentlessly toward that.

Wasn't this how she had lost Ron?

When she hadn't been able to confront her own fading affection for Ron, she had happily taken the assignment from Kingsley.

She had run away.

Even then, she had fled, and look what it had cost her! She considered these things now, as she approached the conference room. This path, through the compound, had become so familiar to her in such a short amount of time, that it was like returning home. So many changes had occurred during her time with SHIELD. Perhaps, it was time to let some changes happen again.

Perhaps it was time to stop fleeing.

She paused in front of the doorway. The pilot took her bag, clearly aghast at how disproportionately heavy it was, and informed her that he would leave it in her temporary room. Hermione nodded, and gazed at the sliding titanium steel doors, listening to his footsteps echo down the hall and away from her. Eventually, she was left alone in front of this door.

If she went through this door, she would have to confront all of her demons.

If she left, she'd just be running away again.

_And even if I do choose to go through, I can either continue to flee and bury myself in this project..._

...The doors began to slide open...

_...Or I can rise to meet this challenge like the Gryffindor I supposedly am._

The conference room was filled to bursting with the Avengers and more. So many faces she didn't recognize... The room fell silent as she stepped into it, and the ringing silence was oppressive. At once she was filled with the urge to turn on the spot and Apparate back to her flat — but here she was, fists clenched and jaw set in determination.

She would not flee.

"Dr. Granger... I wasn't sure you'd agree to help us," said Fury. He was unusually quiet and respectful, and it soothed her. She gave a pained smile.

"It's hard to come back here," she admitted slowly, "but I want to help." Her voice strengthened as she realized how true it was. She met Natasha's eyes, but found no warmth in them._ It's understandable. I pushed her away when she was just trying to be a friend._ She then looked to Maria, and the flicker of a smile on the agent's face gave her further confidence.

"We're glad to see you back here," said Tony, stepping forward and clapping Hermione on the shoulder. The new faces were watching her with wide eyes. Steve now stepped forward as well. Fortunately, he was garbed in relatively normal clothing today, and it was a relief. His spandex suit had always made her feel a little uncomfortable.

"Everyone, this is Dr. Hermione Granger," he began, brightening the room with his infectious, genial smile. "She is the woman who defeated Malekith with Loki's help, three years ago, and saved us all. She gave everything to help us."

Someone in the back began to clap slowly, and then soon the room was filled with thunderous, deafening applause. Tears began to burn Hermione's eyes, especially when she saw Natasha finally join in. She shook her head and gave a teary, wet laugh. This was not the reception she had been expecting — not at all.

Finally, when the applause had died down, Tony turned back to her, looking unusually serious.

"There's a threat to both Asgard and Earth," he began, ushering her over to Fury. Fury hit something on a keypad, and the room darkened. Hermione took a seat beside Natasha and Maria as Fury began talking.

"As Stark was saying, there's a new enemy on the rise. Our intelligence tells us, however, that this threat originates from our own realm..." Fury's eye narrowed, and he turned to Hermione, fixing his heavy gaze on her. "And not just our realm — your people, Dr. Granger." He hit a key, and an image flickered on the screen. It was a photograph, slightly blurred, but easily understood all the same. "Do you recognize this man, Dr. Granger?"

He zoomed in as a burst of recognition knocked the breath from Hermione. An unnaturally lovely, ethereal face of a man came into focus, his face all angles and his hair dark, wavy, and impeccably styled. Next to him was a young man with long, unruly blonde hair and a friendly, mischievous air about him.

She would know those faces anywhere. After how much these two men had affected her life, and how much research she had done on them, how could she not know their faces, even though they both appeared far younger than she would have ever known them?

It was Grindelwald and Voldemort.

* * *

"You'll have to go to Asgard. Loki is overrun with work there; Thor doesn't want him to spare the time to come here and work on the investigation," explained Fury. They had retrieved her duffel bag and now were on their way to the teleportation pad. "So he'll just be coming here to help transport you to Asgard. You'll be working out of there, temporarily."

Fury turned to her now, set his hands on her shoulders, and stared at her hard. "I'm glad you're back."

Hermione felt her eyes burn with tears. She looked down, biting her lip, fumbling for words and failing spectacularly. All she seemed capable of doing was giving herself a runny nose. "We all make mistakes; we all do things we regret," began Fury, his voice just as hard as his gaze, "and it's tempting to sit there and just wallow in your regret."

"How do I make it go away then?" She despised how thin, how weak, how crippled her voice was.

"...You don't. You make it a part of you, and you move on. We don't know what happens when we die — we have lots of ideas, but no answers. So until we find out, we have to assume that this is all we have." Hermione looked up at him now, shocked by his sentiment. Fury's grip was hard. "You have to keep on living, you have to keep on moving forward. There's no point in talking of who would have wanted what, or any of that bullshit. All you've got is the here and now. That guy is dead, Dr. Granger — whatever that means in the bigger sense, for now all we know is that he's dead, and you're still alive."

He relinquished his grip; Hermione massaged her shoulder as the weight of the truth of his words hit her, hard. It was like a slap in the face — a slap she had been desperately needing. Fury stepped back. "Looks like he's back," he added.

She felt it before she saw it. Ever since the battle with the Svartalfs, she had felt it every now and then — a presence, a sixth sense, a connection. Instinctively she had known that Loki was close; she had felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise up, her heart had beat a little faster.

Then it'd be gone; she wouldn't feel it for months and months. She would wonder if she had imagined it.

Now she knew that it hadn't been the fantasizing of a heart overcome with grief: Loki materialized before her, looking the same as ever, his high forehead hidden by his gleaming golden horned helmet, his angular, pianist hand curled in a decisive grip around his staff.

Their eyes met and the world went away for a moment; for that brief instant she was transported directly back to the ashen cavern of Svartalfheim still echoing with Malekith's last desperate screams. She was transported to that moment when she had finally acknowledged her love for Loki — the very same moment in which she had turned away from that bright point of affection, admiration, and desire, and turned to the shadows of her own heart.

Here he was now, before her. What could she possibly say to him? How could such a vast crevice be possibly bridged?

"What a relief — I'd thought you might insist on making some sort of bombastic entrance," greeted Fury dryly. "Any news from Asgard?"

Loki's clever eyes flicked to Fury before settling on Hermione. The emotion in them was too distant and veiled for Hermione to read.

"Good to see you too, Captain," parried Loki. He leisurely stepped off the teleportation pad, and Hermione could not help but revel in his inherent grace and elegance as she had so many times three years ago. Though she had heard that he was a changed man, there was still something in his posture that bespoke of mischief, of trickery, of everything being not quite as it seemed.

And she still found herself wanting both to run away from him and yet also run towards him.

"Well? Report, Loki. He asked you a question," she said sharply. Loki arched his brows at her; as he approached her she was confronted with how much bigger he was than her, and that he had every potential to overpower her with brute force alone. She had to crane her neck to look properly at him.

"I see you still have an affinity for bossing people around."

"I see you still have an affinity for stupid clothes," she retorted, feeling some of her old confidence come back. "Really, when are you going to give that helmet up? It's embarrassing."

"You can have it then — might help with the hair," he said cheekily with a I'm-oh-so-innocent sort of shrug. Hermione crossed her arms, scowling. She hadn't anticipated falling back into this sort of dynamic with Loki, but it was easier than confronting all of the unsaid things between them. She'd take it.

"Ooh. Scathing," she deadpanned. "In any case, if you've nothing to report to Fury, we ought to get moving. If those two are who I think they are, we've got a hell of a lot of work to do."

"I'm not the one standing around insulting people's helmets, now am I?" Loki arched his brows again and held out his hands as he stepped back up onto the teleportation pad. "Coming? Or were you planning on running back home?"

The slight was a stab to the heart; Hermione sucked in a breath of air in pure astonishment.

"I'm not the only one who runs away from the things that are difficult," she said quietly, when she had recovered. "But that's by the by now; we've got two resurrected Dark Wizards to catch — the two most legendary Dark Wizards of all time, mind you. It won't be easy."

Scowling at Loki warningly, she hefted her duffel bag again, wincing at the weight of it, before stepping unsteadily onto the pad. Her eyes met Loki's and a clench of attraction shook her. She hadn't been so close to him in so long... Would he touch her?

Looking down his patrician nose at her, he placed a cool hand on her arm. The motion was rote and unfamiliar; but the look in his eyes was purely intimate.

* * *

After they had reached Asgard, Loki had fled immediately, under the guise of having work to do. This was not a lie by any stretch, but it was certainly a convenient excuse. When he reached his rooms, he slammed the door shut and sank to the floor against it, head in his hands.

His mind was a mess again, and it was all her fault. He had been so comfortable, so cozy in his own melancholy, that he had forgotten how frenzied and wild she could make him feel. He was spinning out of control again, filled with all sorts of dark and uncomfortable urges towards her. He wanted to strangle her, he wanted to strike her, but above all, he longed to hold her close and fuck her. He was no longer Loki the Prodigal Son; he was again Loki the Monster, Loki the man who could not keep his own demons in check.

How easily she had undone his facade, all with a single point of eye contact! That magic, that power, that awareness that she possessed... He did not know what to do with it. She was like fire: terrifying yet so very alluring, dangerously warm, and capable of both giving and destroying. Having her here was dangerous. It reminded him of his own lust for power and danger, yet it also reminded him of how very isolated he still was. Once upon a time, he had imagined pursuing her, had imagined making her his. He had since discarded the notion, but now it was here again, in his face. He was no longer stable, because now, he had a chance to make amends with her; he had the chance to put things right.

Would he take it?

* * *

"You'll be staying in a guest suite in the palace," explained Jane, of all people, as she led Hermione down an enormous breezeway, with fantastic views of the city. Jane kept having to stop and drag Hermione away from one of the balconies, to continue on their way.

Jane had said nothing thus far of Hermione's absence, and though Jane was always awkward and socially uncomfortable, the warmth and friendship had remained. It was a relief, and Hermione was shocked by how many people were willing to forgive her for fleeing.

Unfortunately, it seemed Loki was not one of them.

After arriving in Asgard, he had swept off to attend to business, leaving Hermione to get situated with the help of Jane. His dismissal had been so breezy, so easily done, that Hermione wondered if she had imagined that burning, intimate look of desire in his eyes on the teleportation pad as the rest of the world had faded away.

Then again, Loki had never been quite what he seemed.

They reached her suite; beyond a golden door lay an enormous room with a desk looking out over the balcony and a fabulous canopy bed nearly as large as a swimming pool. The whole thing was so fantastic that Hermione was unsure of how she was going to actually accomplish any work here at all. The bed was the most tempting, and the plush chair by the vast fireplace — perfect for curling up in with a book and tea — was a close second.

"Wow," she breathed, stepping inside, "no wonder you prefer Asgard."

"Yep. Beats the trailer I was working out of for a while," said Jane sardonically. Hermione turned to her.

"I'm glad you're here. This is all so awkward," she confessed. Jane pressed her lips together.

"No one blames you for not wanting to talk," she said shortly. "In fact, I'm stunned you were willing to come back at all."

"I had to," she replied. When she looked back at Jane, the pretty scientist was grinning lopsidedly at her.

"Well, I know the feeling."

The two women shared a private smile before Jane left Hermione to get settled.

Hermione looked around, feeling a bit at a loss. So many emotions to experience all in the span of less than an hour... She dropped down onto the bed, unsure of what to do next. She finally had an all-consuming project, but it meant confronting everything she had been desperately running away from. Now everything was all confused.

Worse yet, she had (for the most part) managed to push down her feelings for Loki, but now they were brought to the fore. She had forgotten how visceral, how pure her desire for him had been. Now there was no real reason to be guilty about it anymore, but to not be guilty about it put her at a loss. She had spent her whole adult life with Ron; he was the only man she had ever slept with. It seemed Loki was not actually an option in that regard, but to even consider it felt wrong. She was for Ron and Ron was for her — but Ron was dead. Ron had been dead.

Where did that leave her? Did that mean she was permanently widowed, permanently alone? Or did that mean that she could find someone new?

It was too confusing; she could not think of it. Just as she was preparing to unpack, there was a knock at her door.

"Come in," she called, her heart racing as she wondered who it might be.

It wasn't Loki, however. Thor was beaming at her — she could all too easily picture him as a puppy (albeit a rather large one) wagging his tail ecstatically.

"Lady Granger!" he bellowed, hurtling across the room and enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug. "It has been far too long! And you are looking just as love-"

"You're embarrassing yourself," came a drawl from the doorway. Thor and Hermione pulled away to find Loki standing there, in dark, plain clothing and his helmet and staff absent. "There is to be a meeting, Dr. Granger, to debrief you."

Before either could respond, he dematerialized, and was gone. Thor sighed, pushing at his golden hair. In spite of his evident distress, he flashed her a grin.

"Ignore my brother — he is acting like a spoilt schoolboy over your arrival, I fear. Come, let us discuss our plans."

He led Hermione to the throneroom. Before the throne, a large golden table had been placed, and tall, serious-looking men, most of them in armor, sat round it. Loki sat at the foot, across from Thor. Hermione felt a clench of intimidation, both from the men who looked so much more impressive than she, and also from Loki's infuriating impassivity. There was a seat open at Thor's right, and Hermione took it. Across the table, her eyes met Loki's. A bolt of desire shook her, but she had to ignore it.

Thor began to explain the situation; it seemed that at his birthday celebration, Loki had detected a breach. He had spotted a flaxen-haired man darting away, and had followed him on his own, narrowly losing him just as the man had reached the rainbow bridge. He had disappeared, with a sharp crack, and Loki had known then that the man had to be a magical Midgardian.

This lined up with reports from the British Ministry of Magic as well as SHIELD: two men, who either were masquerading as young Voldemort and Grindelwald, or really were Voldemort and Grindelwald, somehow resurrected, were causing trouble in both Asgard and Earth. They were looking for something, Loki had concluded.

But no one knew what.

Throughout the account, Loki remained silent, his gaze aligned with Hermione's. He had remained impassive, and to see him so inanimate and emotionless was like seeing Professor McGonagall looking ditzy: it seemed impossible and wrong. Yet she detected that this facade was tightly controlled, and something more wild and powerful lurked beneath the icy, placid surface.

"I was wondering if I could have a private word with Loki," said Hermione, after Thor's tale was finished. Thor looked a bit miffed that his dramatic account hadn't gotten more praise, but he grudgingly agreed, along with the rest of his advisors, to leave Hermione alone with Loki.

"Follow me. We'll talk in my study," said Loki flatly, before rising from his chair, which scraped loudly on the floor, and stalking off. Hermione hastened to follow him, her face burning with anger. Why was Loki acting like this? She far preferred when he was being a little shit to this impassive mask.

Loki's study was connected to his room, and had enormous windows overlooking the bifrost. The sky was darkening; night was falling. Torches cast flickering light about the room. Hermione shut the door behind her as Loki halted in the middle of the room, and turned to face her. "Well?"

Hermione brandished her wand, considering threatening him with a Hex just to get a reaction from him.

"Well? Well? Are you out of your bloody mind? Loki, we have got to just... talk about this, at some point. This is getting ridiculous," she blustered, stalking over to him, wand pointed at his chest. Loki seemed supremely indifferent to her threat, and a hint of a smirk tugged at his lovely lips — the lips she had imagined kissing for so long.

"Getting ridiculous? Dr. Granger, you've not been here an hour. Given all the time that's passed..." he trailed off significantly, and stepped back.

"It's Hermione," she said through clenched teeth, lowering her wand. "Just. Bloody. Call. Me. HERMIONE."

"Sorry, did you want me to call you Hermione, or Dr. Granger? You haven't quite made yourself clear."

"Har har. I see you haven't completely lost your charming wit, after all," she snapped. "Loki, I just want to work together and solve this, but I can't if there's this — if there's this... thing, between us!" She found herself gesturing a bit wildly, feeling foolish in the process. Loki scoffed, and she was filled with grim satisfaction as his eyes flashed. At last, he was truly reacting to her.

"Perhaps there wouldn't be, if you hadn't simply run off," he said coolly, approaching her lazily. A surge of fear and anticipation heated her blood and she instinctively shifted into a fighting stance.

"You could have chased me," she retorted, ducking around him and circling him, wand at the ready. "But you didn't. You could have confronted me — but you didn't do that either. You did nothing — no, you did worse than nothing. You ran off too."

Loki's mouth was a thin, hard line. He held out his hand and his staff flew across the room, snapping into his grip. They began to circle each other, the flames casting flickering, shifting golden light on them.

"How could I have possibly run after you? You didn't want me."

They stopped now. Loki's gaze was scalding. Hermione gripped her wand in sweaty palms, nearly at her breaking point.

"I did want you, Loki. But I was afraid of feeling that way about someone other than Ron to begin with — and when he died, I felt my feelings were responsible for his death."

Loki's eyes flashed. He threw his head back and let out a bitter, acidic laugh.

"Oh, that is rich. You were afraid of your own desire? I should not even be surprised." He stepped closer now; she was filled with the scent of his skin. She was afraid to breathe; she might breathe him in and then what? "You act as though you're this fearless lioness — but you're not. You are afraid of your own darkness — you are actually afraid of your own shadow."

"I don't have to take this." Hermione turned on her heel and left the room.

_You're actually afraid of your own shadow._ The disbelief, the shock, the incredulity, and yet, the relish with which Loki had said these words was seared in her mind forever as she stalked back down the hallway, back towards the throne room. She felt her face threatening to crumple and break down as she burst into tears; she had not cried in years and it was for a reason.

She swerved and took a sharp left, instead of returning to the throneroom, and found herself in a little alcove, sheltered from the hallway, and looking out over the bifrost at night. She sank to the floor and curled up, as tears, unbidden, streamed down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook and she pressed her forehead to her knees, willing the tears to stop, but they were apparently not impressed by her willpower, for they continued. _Failure. Coward. Selfish bitch._ These accusations, the same as always, flitted about her mind, but now, she heard them in Loki's voice, and it made them sting all the more. She hadn't realized how much she had craved Loki's approval. Why did she even care? Loki had done so much wrong, especially towards her.

She recalled standing atop Big Ben, in the pouring rain, attempting to capture him. She recalled the sheer power radiating from him in that moment, and how intoxicating and alluring she had found it, even then, when he had without argument been her enemy. He was no longer her enemy, yet they were more at odds now than ever before. In spite of all this, she still was filled with the absurd urge to win his approval, to make him like her. It was ridiculous. He did not deserve this from her.

Clearly, he held her in quite low esteem, if their conversation was anything to go on.

_Pull yourself together, you blithering moron,_ she snapped at herself. She steeled her will and wiped at her cheeks furiously before rising, and hurried back to the throneroom.

When she had returned, Loki was already there, and the men around him, including Thor, were laughing at something he had said. They quieted when she returned, and she stood there, overcome with the awful, sinking notion that she was acting like a childish and weak little girl around several seasoned warriors. If they didn't respect her, it was obviously her own doing.

"Voldemort and Grindelwald, if that is really who they are, are after immortality," she said, having cleared her throat. She approached the table and retook her seat. All eyes were on her and she tried to ignore the burning embarrassment currently setting her cheeks aflame. "That was always their quest. They are both more than formidable, but Voldemort is especially dangerous — more than dangerous. He is the single most deadly man in the universe. He is beyond cunning, and is ruthless. Due to the means by which he was conceived, he is incapable of love or remorse."

She cleared her throat again, tensing as she awaited their reaction. Loki, surprisingly, was the first to speak. Their eyes met across the table. She anticipated some sarcastic remark from him, and girded herself for it.

"What is the likelihood they have actually been resurrected?" His voice was hard, all business, and betrayed none of the fury with which he had accosted her in his room.

"Very high," she replied grimly. "There are a few means of resurrecting life with our magic, and Voldemort is no stranger to them."

"You seem more concerned with Voldemort than with Grindelwald," Loki observed silkily. Hermione raised her brows.

"It took one duel to end Grindelwald — it took two wars, innumerable lives, and an incredible amount of research to end Voldemort."

"Apparently not, as neither of them have actually been ended," Loki remarked. Hermione felt fury blossom in her towards Loki. Who was he to make sport of all of the suffering which had cost them due to Grindelwald and Voldemort? She despised him; she wanted to Hex him and then decided that brute, physical, non-magical force would be even more satisfying. She stared into those depths, as cold and deep as the Atlantic, and tried to convey through her stare how much she longed to hurt him.

Like looking into water, however, that same intent — and more — was reflected in his eyes. A hint of a smirk curved Loki's lovely lips.

"Well, when we finally do take them down, I'll be sure to allow you to be the one who does it — to make sure it's done right," she snarked. Loki's brows flicked upward in amusement.

"That's probably for the best," he said dryly. She was just short of seriously hurting him, and in a surprisingly tactful move, it was at that moment that Thor decided to end the meeting.

* * *

Hermione sat in her room, before the fireplace, on the plush chair. She should have been relishing such a delicious moment for herself — after all, there was nothing she loved more than a cozy fire, a plush chair, and a good book — and she even had a steaming cup of Earl Grey on the little table beside her chair. But instead, she found herself scowling into the fireplace, daydreaming about causing Loki serious harm.

This day couldn't get any worse — or at least, she hoped it couldn't. She was heartbroken, confused, enraged, and yet — and yet — delirious with happiness. She now knew that that was the thing troubling her the most; that was the emotion surging within her all day that she had been unable to identify or control. She was near Loki, even if the space between them was filled with acidic hostility, hurt, and disappointment, and it was making her heart sing. Layered on top of this happiness, partially clouding it, was the guilt at such happiness. She did not deserve this. Was it not disloyal to Ron?

_You didn't even love Ron anymore when he was alive._ Again with this mental tail-chasing... she didn't know where to turn or what to do. The old notes on Voldemort, from the Horcrux days, lay on her lap, but even her work could not distract her from her turmoil this time.

Deep within her, at her very core, was a searing need for Loki. She wanted him, all of him, but she had no idea of how to get him, and she did not even want to try, for fear of the guilt which would inevitably fill her. Again Loki's words echoed in her mind:_ you are actually afraid of your own shadow_. Here she was both trying to outrun her own shadow, yet looking back at it, frantically, desperately drawn to its darkness.

And who was Loki to criticize her, anyway? He had done nothing but since their reunion, and it was infuriating. She wasn't the one who had wreaked all sorts of havoc across bloody realms because she was not the favorite child. Really, if there was anyone who ought to be criticized, it was Loki.

Still scowling, she rose from her chair and stashed her notes on the desk. She was going to find Loki, and she was going to settle this once and for all. If they didn't finish the conversation she had fled from earlier, then there was no way they were ever going to solve this bloody case.

* * *

Loki had remained locked in his room for quite some time, futilely attempting to accomplish work. The problem was Hermione, as always, and Loki was about ready to really strangle her. It occurred to him that he was in hiding, but so long as Hermione didn't dare to accuse him of doing such, then it didn't have to matter. His pride was still stinging, but at least he was positive hers was too. Worse yet was the burning desire, pumping blood to places in him that made things ... complicated... and thus contributing less blood to his brain. As a result, his mind was clouded with lust, rendering him directionless, infuriated, and crazed.

If he could simply have her one time, then he might feel some relief. Deep down he knew this was bullshit — if he really just wanted a good fuck, he had plenty of other options. That wasn't really the issue and it was foolish to try and tell himself that.

After all that they had been through together, he would have thought that their combative attraction might have settled down. Especially after so much distance — both literally and emotionally — he had thought the flame might have receded to little more than an ember. How wrong he had been!

He heard the soft _chink_ of his lock unclicking, and he tensed. Of course, Hermione _would_ be able to unlock locks with her magic. Loki began to panic as the door creaked open. He swallowed as his heart jumped into his throat, before setting his face in a grimace.

This was nothing more than a battle, he told himself. He would win this war, once and for all.

Hermione pushed open the door, caught between her own natural hesitance and an instinctive confrontational nature — really, this had always been her problem: to hold back or rush forward? She felt she was always doing the wrong one at the wrong time. Always charging forward into confrontation when it was uncalled for, and then feeling foolish for having done it. On the other hand, the times she had held back, she had always regretted it; she had always found herself recalling the situation and coming up with any number of clever rebuttals that, in spite of all her wit and cleverness, would never have come to her in the moment.

She was thirty-three years old now; if someone had told her when she had been, say, twelve, that she would _still_ feel so awkward and ungainly in her own skin most of the time, she would have fainted. She had always looked forward to her future with the certainty that she would grow out of her uncertainty, that she would grow into her own personality as she had grown into her features (with a _little_ magical help, of course). She could see that she still had quite some growing up to do.

But what would grown-up Hermione do in this scenario? She tried to remind herself of all of her successes, to give her confidence that in some ways she _was _grown up, but they all seemed to centre on her work: none (or at least, a spare few) of her successes had any relevance outside of her office. She was a lonely woman now, and though she always had been, it had only gotten worse in the past three years. She had pushed everyone away.

Her features crumpled with the temptation to cry. Her true loneliness was realized at this moment, and at the same time of such a selfish thought, she was overcome with an alarming burst of empathy: Loki was this lonely, too. At the centre of their relationship, past the wit and cleverness and talent and scathing remarks and combat, at this centre was pure understanding. At once she had recognized herself within Loki, as though looking into a mirror, and she had understood him, and she had not liked that. It was too easy for her to empathize with Loki, and she did not want to empathize with a _villain. _

So she had run, had she not? She had run away from the sight of her own shadow existing within Loki, but it had followed her, dogged her footsteps. Perhaps grown-up Hermione's task was to turn and greet that shadow with open arms — just as in the story of the Deathly Hallows, the third brother greeted Death, in all of its horrible, beautiful inevitability, as an old friend.

Hermione pushed the door open wide.

Loki was stretched languidly in his desk chair, facing the door and regarding her with arched brows. The expression, as well as the loveliness of his lips and the grace and elegance with which he carried himself, as always made her belly clench in desire.

"Loki," she began in a soft voice, unsure of what to say to convey all that she had realized. She shut the door behind her without turning from him. Even across the room, his gaze was blazing, burning, searing. She could tell he was girded for a fight, but she wouldn't give him a fight. She had been the villain for far too long. She looked down at the ground. "I just wanted to say thanks. For sending for me. It was flattering."

"I didn't send for you."

The immediacy of his response suggested otherwise. Hermione found her lips curving into a grin, against her will.

Loki sat there, watching her, drowning in shock. Of all the things he had been expecting from Hermione, this had not been it. There was not enough blood in his brain and the sight of her was doing odd things to him. All he could see was her soft brown eyes, shining with a tenderness he had not expected from her.

He needed to get her out of here. She could not invade his space like this; it was not fair. "I didn't send for you," he repeated, though it was a blatant lie and she would know as much.

"You're such a child sometimes, Loki," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. The movement emphasized her considerable assets and Loki's brain turned off momentarily. Even when rational thought did return to him, it was foggy. He wanted her. "I know you're the one who would have sent for me — who else would have? Honestly, you must think me mentally subnormal."

The way she was standing there, cheeks pleasingly flushed and her brown eyes bright with wit, was more than he could bear. He was panicked, panicked that she would find out. Because if she found out just how much he desired her, then she would gain the upper hand. And once Hermione got the upper hand, she wouldn't be relinquishing it any time soon.

And yet... perhaps in admitting his desire, he would free himself from this madness. Loki began to smirk as his posture changed from defensive to something more predatory. Why were they doing this? The only woman to have ever so thoroughly occupied his mind was _in his bedroom,_ all his. She was here of her own volition, and she could have run away before now — but she hadn't.

"You're right. I did send for you." He rose from his seat and observed Hermione's eyes flash as she processed this change in dynamic. He took a leisurely step forward, his eyes locking with hers. "I sent for you because you're the only one who can help us."

"Well." She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. He could see her throat muscles work as she gulped. "Like I said before: thanks, it's flattering. Means a lot."

"It wasn't just that I knew you could do it. It was also that I have thought of little else besides you for the past three years." He took another step forward, beginning to invade _her _personal space. She was here, in _his_ jurisdiction. Why in the name of Asgard would he allow her to dictate their confrontation? All this time, they had been fighting for dominance — but now that she was here, he would show her who was boss. He watched her take a little step back, draw in a sharp little breath, her eyes widening just so. She wasn't scared, but he'd caught her off guard, and the notion flooded him with pleasure. He continued to stride forward, until he had backed her against the wall. Here, she belonged to him — and wasn't that exactly what he'd been trying to prove to her all along? No, she could not be owned by any man — but Loki was not any man.

"What are you playing at?" she demanded. "We have a job to do, Loki. We haven't got time for nonsense."

"You yourself said we'd never be able to work together if we didn't resolve the conflict between us. Consider me doing my part to resolve it." He placed a hand on the wall next to her head. She bit back a little squeal of frustration. His heart was pounding with the notion that she could easily utter one of her spells and cause him all sorts of damage, but he was oddly confident that that wouldn't be happening. _For as much as she belongs to me... I belong to her, _he realized. She could end him and he could end her. Permanently at odds, forever circling each other...

"This isn't resolving it — you're making it worse!" she said acidly, pulling at her hair. She had never felt more cornered emotionally; physically she knew she could escape easily but this wasn't a physical conflict. Even if one of them managed to pin the other down magically it would not have meant a victory, because their battle was one of the mind and, most of all, willpower. Prior to now it had been willpower against one letting the other find out about their attraction, but now that Loki had admitted his feelings, the game had changed, leaving Hermione uncertain of how to win this round.

Time to change tactics, she had to admit to herself. She allowed herself to smile. Loki arched his brows.

"Making it worse? You don't seem too upset about this change in situation," Loki observed.

"Well, you're right. It's time we admitted our attraction to each other so we can move on to more consequential things. Voldemort and Grindelwald must be defeated." She pushed at his arm, pushed it away from her. "I've thought of little else besides you as well, Loki."

It was easier to admit such a thing when it was a step towards winning whatever _this_ was, but it still wasn't a simple thing. She didn't know what it would mean to win nor what her reward would be but she was saturated with the urge to _win_ at all costs. This revelation — her attraction to Loki — had been a subject of great shame for her for so long. Even now, under the guise of battle, admitting it was like releasing something. She felt herself droop slightly with fatigue.

The weight of that secret...how much had it been weighing her down? She had always been aware of its negative influence on her life. It was her greatest source of humiliation, and now it was out in the open, for Loki to do with it as he wished.

Their eyes met once more and Loki cast his staff aside, and without thinking she reached forward and grasped his tunic, dragging him roughly closer as he pinned her against the wall. Their lips crashed together as her world went spinning off its axis, and she was out of orbit of all of the things that had once governed her life. All her life, she had relied on her logic and deeply ingrained sense of morality to guide her, yet every now and then, her passion took over, made her do things that went against all sense of rhyme and reason.

Loki sank into the kiss, closing his eyes and surrendering to his senses: the taste of her mouth, the feel of her soft, slick lips and tongue, the sound of her soft _hum_ of appreciation as he deepened the kiss...

* * *

Afterwards, they lay on Loki's bed, staring out the enormous windows at the brilliant sky of Asgard. Hermione lay there, feeling Loki curled possessively around her, her eyelids drooping with the threat of sleep. She was just beginning to drift off when the door to Loki's room burst open.

"Brother! Another brea- oh."

Hermione bolted up and snatched the blankets to cover herself; conversely, Loki leisurely sat up, regarding Thor with amusement. Thor appeared to be choking on his own spit.

"We'll be there in a moment," Loki said with a smirk. Thor bolted out of the room, slamming the door. Hermione imagined him rushing to find Jane to help him process what he had just seen.

"Cat's out of the bag, I guess," she remarked, as they began hurriedly dressing. She admired Loki's pale torso — clawed over with scratches and love bites — for a moment before returning to the task at hand. Loki sniggered and finished dressing, and held out his hand. His staff and helmet zoomed across the room to him. Fully clothed, they faced each other.

"That's one way of putting it," he parried insinuatingly. Hermione flushed and rolled her eyes. Loki turned and looked back at her over his svelte shoulder.

"Are you ready to save the world?"

"As usual," she retorted. They left the room together, unsure of what they would face but confident they would defeat it together.

END


End file.
